UNIVERSITY  OF  CA  RlVIPi^l'Sfjih'^nifi^li 


3  1210  01959  8307 


REMINISCENCES 

OF 

A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 


Copyrigtit.  Iflon, 

by  Elliott  &  Krv.  Ltd.,  London 


MRS.    HIGH    FRASER 


REMINISCENCES 

OF 

A   DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 


Further  Reminiscences  of  a  Diplofnatisf  s  Wife 
in  Many  Lands 

BY 

MRS.  HUGH  FRASER 

AUTHOR    OF    «'A    diplomatist's    WIFE    IN    JAPAN" 
"A  diplomatist's  wife  in   many   LANDS,"   ETC. 

WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS 


NEW  YORK 
DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY 

1912 


Copyright,  igi2 
By  Dodd,  Mead  and  Company 


Published  November,  1912 


INTRODUCTION 

Since  the  following  is  a  book  of  reminiscences,  I  think  I  am 
justified  in  opening  it  with  one  from  a  side  of  my  life  for  which 
no  place  has  been  found  either  in  this  or  the  preceding  volumes. 
Some  years  ago  I  was  honored  by  an  invitation  to  lecture  before 
a  certain  distinguished  Literary  Society  comprising  among  its 
members  many  old  friends  of  my  own.  The  pleasure  I  felt 
in  being  about  to  address  these  dear  people  on  a  subject  rather 
close  to  their  hearts  caused  me  to  forget  the  etiquette  usually 
practised  on  such  occasions.  When  the  final  notes  of  the  over- 
ture died  away,  I  skipped  lightly  up  the  steps  to  the  stage;  but  a 
strong  hand  pulled  me  down,  and  the  President's  stern  whisper 
sounded  in  my  ear,  "  Hold  on,  hold  on !  I  must  introduce 
you  !  " 

Feeling  very  small,  I  shrank  back  among  the  palms  and  azaleas, 
while  the  kind  President  sounded  my  praises  to  the  audience,  in 
terms  so  far  beyond  my  merits  that  when  he  drew  me  forth  from 
my  hiding  place  I  was  overcome  with  confusion.  For  a  minute 
or  two  I  could  not  find  my  voice,  and  I  had  something  like  an 
attack  of  stage- fright.      But  I  had  been  introduced! 

It  seems  that  this  book  must  go  through  the  same  cere- 
mony. It  came  back  to  me  from  the  Publishers  with  the  curt 
intimation,  "Introduction  required."  What  shall  I  say  of  it? 
Only  this,  that  it  was  asked  for  by  the  readers  of  its  predecessors 
and  that  I  hope  they  will  be  as  kind  to  it  as  they  were  to  them. 
Two  years  ago,  with  many  tremors  and  hesitations,  I  sent  the 
"  Diplomatist's  Wife  in  Many  Lands  "  out  into  the  world,  trust- 
ing that  its  shortcomings  would  be  forgiven  for  the  sake  of  certain 

V 


INTRODUCTION 

new  and  true  things  it  had  to  tell.  Its  reception  overwhelmed 
me.  The  generous  appreciation  of  far  greater  writers  than  my- 
self, and  the  delighted  sympathies  of  readers  were  conveyed  to 
me  by  every  mail,  till  my  hermitage  in  the  Rockies  became 
peopled  by  a  host  of  kindred  spirits,  loving  what  I  loved,  enjoy- 
ing what  I  enjoyed,  and  all  asking  for  "  more." 

If  the  "  more  "  is  somewhat  less  connected  than  the  narrative 
in  the  former  volumes,  that  is  because  many  events  and  experi- 
ences in  my  life  had  to  be  omitted  there  for  want  of  space. 
Such  as  they  are,  may  the  following  pages  give  some  pleasure  to 
the  readers  who  have  crowned  my  other  work  with  so  much  kind 
approval  and  heartened  the  writer's  lonely  way  with  so  much 
encouragement.  To  that  encouragement  the  present  venture  is 
due,  and  to  their  judgment  I  commit  it,  only  begging  that  they 
will  be  "to  its  virtues  very  kind,  to  its  faults  a  little  blind." 

Mary  Crawford  Fraser. 

WiNTHROP,   August  24,    1912. 


VI 


CONTENTS 


I 


Page 


From  the  Odescalchi  to  Buckingham  Palace    .     .  i 

A  Roman  Sunday  —  A  Long-lost  Uncle,  and  a  Pearl  —  A  Lover  of  Horace 
Sees  Rome  in  a  Day — Recollections  of  my  Aunt  Medora  —  Strawberries, 
Sunshine,  and  Songs — An  Unmourned  Mother-in-Law — Bath,  the  For- 
saken—  The  Mistake  of  a  Great  Physician  —  I  Make  My  Curtsey  to  My 
Sovereign —  "The  First  Turn  at  the  Mill!  " 

II 

In  and  Out  of  Bavaria 25 

A  Forgotten  Picture  in  the  House  of  Thought  —  A  Premature  Excursion 
and  a  Breach  of  Discipline  —  The  First  Fairy  Story — Croatian  Nurses  — 
The  Masked  Lady  —  A  Summer  at  Weissenbach  —  A  Mad  King  and 
a  Wise  Regent  —  The  Emperor  and  Count  Andrassy  —  Haynau  the 
Repressor. 

Ill 

Sovereigns,  Treaties,  and  Traditions 49 

A  House  Divided  against  Itself — Croatia  and  Hungary — Wooden  Soldiers 
and  M.  de  Bonaparte's  "youngster"  — Archduke  John  and  TjtoI  — 
"The  Old  Colours  Last  the  Best"  —  Hapsburg  Eccentricities  —  An  In- 
convenient Member  of  the  Family  and  His  Mysterious  End  —  The  Em- 
peror's Reception  Day  —  The  Story  of  Murat  —  A  Headless  Corpse  — 
The  Fall  of  Metternich  —  Traditions  of  Diplomacy  —  "  Accidents  Will 
Happen  "  —  The  Afterward  of  a  Pitifiil  Tragedy. 

IV 
In  Polish  Prussia 81 

A  Haunted  Country  and  a  Lonely  Ride  —  In  the  Tracks  of  the  Grand  Army 
—  The  "Extra  Post"  —  Unexpected!  —  Italy  in  Prussia  —  A  Devout 
General  —  Church-going  under  Difficulties  —  A  Ghostly  Chair  —  The 
"Starost's"  Boots  —  A  Consolable  Widower  —  The  Last  of  the  Old 
Guard  —  Polish  Poets  and  the  Polish  Jeanne  d'Arc  —  A  Family  of 
Exiles  —  Lord   Palmerston's   Prophecy  —  The  Foe  within  the  Gates. 


CONTENTS 

"  Page 

Tyrants,  Soldiers,  and  Sailors 98 

Villa  Sforza  Cesarini  and  the  Duke  of  My  Day  —  An  Obscure  Victim  —  The 
Sforza  Line  —  Lady  Fraser  and  a  Little  Girl's  Terrors  of  "Boney"  in 
1804  —  Sir  John  at  Eton  —  Sir  George  Nugent  —  A  Duel  at  Sea  —  A 
Scottish  Grand  Vizier  —  The  Strange  Case  of  Doctor  Burns  —  Simon 
Fraser,  the  Brigadier  —  An  Epidemic  of  Bogeys  —  Uncle  Sam's  Last 
Journey  —  General  de  Sonnaz  —  Admiral  Caracciolo  —  Where  Nelson 
Was  not  Great  —  The  Dead  Admiral   Demands  Christian  Burial. 

VI 
Friends  and  Friendly  Places 129 

The  Cocumella,  a  Haven  of  Rest  —  Sorrento  Sailors  and  Their  Families  — 
The  Influence  of  the  Religious  Sodalities  —  Faith's  Insurances  —  On  the 
Crest  of  the  Pass  —  The  Road  to  Amalfi  —  Rival  Ports  —  Salerno  and 
the  Crusaders  —  An  Alarming  Journey  and  a  Considerate  Villain  —  The 
De  Raasloff  Family  —  My  Friend  Anna  —  A  Bit  out  of  the  Bible  of 
Youth  —  Anna  in  Thuringia  —  The  Frau  Hof-Pastorin's  Convict 
Christmas  Party —  "  Beata  Lei!" 

VII 
North  of  the  Alps 148 

A  Danish  Subaltern  —  The  Schleswig-Holstein  Riddle  —  De  Raasloff 
Settles  the  Elsinore  Complication  —  The  Pitiful  Story  of  a  Young  Queen 

—  Von  Moltke's  Boyhood  —  A  Stern  Tutor  —  Too  Much  Goat!  —  A 
Nameless  Student  and  a  Gruesome  Parcel  —  Von  Moltke's  First  Sight  of 
the  Prussian  Army  Decides  His  Fate — His  Long  Struggle  with  Poverty  — 
His  Patience  and  Perseverance  —  Discouragement  and  Projected  Emigration 
to  Australia  in  Middle  Life  —  The  Emperor's  Attachment  to  Him  — 
Count  Seckendorff  Makes  a  Little  Mistake  —  The  Crown  Prince's  Servant 

—  "  Nanti  Strumpf,"   the  German    Pasquino. 

VIII 
Sunshine  and  Shadow  in  the  Penisola      .      .      .      .      170 

"Zoroaster"  at  Pompeii  —  My  Brother's  Wife  and  Her  Family  —  The 
Duke  of  Wellington's  Maxim  —  A  Young  Turk  —  Filangieri  the  Fire- 
eater —  King  Ferdinand's  Dismissal  of  the  Swiss  Guards — The  Surrender 
of  Palermo  —  Garibaldi's  "Double"  — A  Veteran's  Experiences  —  Roast 
Goose  for  Four  —  A  Franciscan  in  England  —  The  Amiable  Crispi  —  The 
Disaster  of  Massouah  —  Tragedy  in  the  Flesh  —  Hill-road  Pictures  —  A 
Contrast  in  Funerals. 

viii 


CONTENTS 

IX  Page 

Ravello,  Capri,  and  Ischia 197 

A  Twilight  Drive —  Ravello  by  Moonlight —  "  The  Immortals  "  —  Uncle 
Sam  at  the  Cocumella  —  A  Purely  Personal  Question  —  A  Squall  in  the 
Bay  —  The  Sun-smitten  Island  —  Uncle  Sam  at  Anacapri  —  "  Oh,  wenn  es 
nur  immer  so  bliebe!"  —  Doctor  Munthe's  Villa  —  The  Library  of  My 
Dreams  —  A  Homesick  Sphynx  —  Marion's  Rock-study  —  A  "  Festa  on 
the  Terrace"  — The  Barber  Musician  and  His  Troupe  —  The  Catastrophe 
of  Casamicciola  —  The  Parroco  and  His  Free-thinkers. 

X 

Our  Lady  of  the   Rosary  at  Pompeii       ....      221 

The  Study  in  the  Tower  —  A  Marvellous  Night  Scene  —  "Japan,  the 
Impersonal" — The  Santuario  of  Pompeii  —  A  Pious  Lawyer  and  a  For- 
saken District  —  A  Successful  Mission  —  The  Miraculous  Picture  Found 
behind  a  Door  —  Its  Humble  Conveyance  to  Pompeii  —  A  Splendid  Throne 
and  a  Heartful  of  Names —  Thank-offerings  of  Great  Price  —  Saintly  Collab- 
orators —  The  Parish  Church  of  the  World  —  Orphan  Girls  and  Sons  of 
Convicts  —  The  Fifteen  Saturdays  —  The  Miracle  of  Don  Pasquale  Bortone 
—  A  True  Love  Story  —  My  Wayfarers  —  A  Visit  to  the  Santuario. 

XI 
Life  at  Villa  Crawford 256 

A  Trying  Journey  —  A  Neapolitan  Bridal  Party  —  Wedding  Presents  and 
Business-like  Precautions  —  Sponsorial  Liabilities  —  Concetta  Changes  Her 
Mind  —  "  Over  the  Cliff  !  "  —  A  Church  under  the  Sea  —  Two  Venture- 
some Ladies  and  a  Fortunate  Catastrophe  —  The  Water  Trust  and  Its 
Guardian  —  Living  Pictures  at  the  Villa  —  Henry  James  Pays  Us  a  Visit 
There  —  A  Triumph  of  Ambition  —  The  Children's  Tarantella —  Embar- 
rassing Guests  —  A  Goddess  of  the  Hills. 

XII 
The  Out-Trail 279 

In  Tyrol  —  Mary  Howitt  and  the  Dominican  Father  —  An  Ideal  Home  — 
The  Prince  Bishop's  Manor  House  —  Hansi  and  Liesel  —  Across  the  World 
Again!  —  Rio  Pictures  —  A  Monte  Video  Couple  —  A  Fragile  Cargo  — 
Good-bye,  Summer  —  The  Frozen  Straits  —  Antarctic  Cannibals  —  The 
Globe  Rainbow  —  A  Forgotten  Rock  —  Santiago,  the  "  Paris  of  South 
America  "  —  Wet  Lodgings  —  My  First  Earthquake  —  A  "  Little  Place  " 
in  Peru  —  A  Pretty  Quiverful  —  Chilean  Family  Life. 

ix 


CONTENTS 

XIII  Page 

Purely  Domestic 305 

A  Mistake  and  Its  Consequences  —  My  Heavy  Handful  —  The  Grocer's 
Assistant  —  Scandal  and  Compromise  —  Revelations  of  the  Ice-chest  —  A 
Conquering  Substitute  —  A  Painful  Interview  —  "  Them  Jams,  Madam!" 

—  The  Disappearance  of  Juan  —  A  Sympathetic  Inspector  —  A  Good 
Ftiday  Misadventure  —  "Muffins!"  —  Clara's  Irish  Lover. 

XIV 
In  a  South  American  Capital 321 

Sarah  Bernhardt  in  Santiago  —  The  Luxury  of  Tears  —  A  Paternal  Impres- 
ario and  a  Forsaken  Opera  Company  —  Dangers  of  Dining  Out  —  The 
Nitrate  War  —  The  Arbitration  Courts  —  An  Official  Surprise  —  The 
"Impartial"  Brazilian —  "Think  of  our  Wives  and  Families!"  — 
The  Cholera  Comes  over  the  Passes —  Death  Traps  in  the  Andes  —  Two 
Errors  of  Judgment  —  A  Gruesome  Caller — Senor  B.'s  Brilliant  Idea  — 
Santiago  Apaches  —  A  Discriminating  Thief — Those  Honest   Policemen! 

XV 

Spanish-American  Ways  and  Traditions  ....     347 

Treacherous  Sisters  —  The  "Toothache"  Signal  —  A  Young  Diplomatist 
in  Guatemala  —  Forgotten?  —  An  Unauthorised  Flight  —  Remembered 
Music  —  A  Little  "  Pronunciamento  " — The  Christmas   Fair  in  Santiago 

—  A  Tireless  Dancer  —  Turn  on  the  Hose!  —  Country  Dandies  and  Their 
Splendours —  What  the  Girls  Learn  —  Strange  Funeral  Customs  —  Un- 
explained! —  A  Were-wolf  of  the  Campagna. 

XVI 

"  Battle,  Murder,  and  Sudden  Death  !  "       ...     366 

The  Curse  of  the  Latins — Mademoiselle  Jaures  and  the  Broken  Crucifix  — 
Santa  Maria  Desecrates  the  Cemeteries  —  A  Clandestine  Funeral  —  Chilean 
Heroines — The  Tram-car  Riot  —  A  Resolute  Mob  —  A  Massacre  of  the 
Innocents — Stolen  Bullion  —  The  President  in  Hiding  —  The  Children's 
Game  and  the  Tyrant's  End. 

XVII 
A  Watering  Place  in  the  Andes 381 

A  Trying  Situation  —  Degenerate  Spanish  —  "  No  Doctors  or  Lawyers!  " 
The  Mystical  "  Manto  "  —  Pretty  Prayer  Carpets  —  A  Startling  Sight  — 
The  Parrot  in  Church  —  The  Ways  of  Good  Women  —  A  Piously  Con- 
ducted Pilgrimage  —  The  Baths  of  Cauquenes  —  Conservative  Grandees — • 
White  Acacias  —  A  Lonely  Bloom  —  The  Dream-letter  —  Where  Our 
Marching  Orders  Found  Me  —  A  Memory  and  a  Farewell. 

X 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Mrs.  Hugh  Fraser Frontispiece 

View  of  the  Palazzo  Odescalchi    Facing  page     40 
F.  Marion  Crawford    .      .      .      .      "  "172 

Mr.  Hugh  Fraser "  "     300 


XI 


REMINISCENCES     OF     A 
DIPLOMATIST'S     WIFE 

I 

FROM  THE  ODESCALCHI  TO  BUCKINGHAM  PALACE 

A  Roman  Sunday  —  A  Long-lost  Uncle,  and  a  Pearl  —  A  Lover  of  Horace 
Sees  Rome  in  a  Day  —  Recollections  of  my  Aunt  Medora  —  Strawberries, 
Sunshine,  and  Songs  —  An  Unmourned  Mother-in-law  —  Bath,  the  For- 
saken—  The  Mistake  of  a  Great  Physician  —  I  Make  My  Curtsey  to  My 
Sovereign  —  "The  First  Turn  at  the  Mill!" 

ON  a  certain  Sunday  morning,  when  I  was  about  nine- 
teen, I  awoke  with  the  conviction  that  something 
imusually  pleasant  was  going  to  happen.  The  time  was 
winter  —  but  Roman  winter,  with  dazzling  sunshine, 
sparkling  air,  and  a  sky  of  radiant  blue  doming  In  a 
city  of  softly-tinted  palaces  and  diamond-tossing  foun- 
tains, a  blue  that  painted  soft  reflections  of  Itself  In 
every  undulation  of  the  Campagna  and  darkened  to 
cobalt  on  the  distant  peaks  of  the  Sabines,  where  the 
rare  whiteness  of  new-fallen  snow  shone  out  for  win- 
ter's signature.  Indoors  all  was  flowery  with  roses  and 
niies  and  violets  filling  the  house  with  perfume  that 
mingled  heavily  with  the  warm  smell  of  pine  and  olive 
wood  burning  in  the  open  fireplaces;  but  "indoors"  is 
hardly  the  word  for  the  Interior  of  the  Odescalchi,  as 
there  the  windows  were  almost  always  open  to  the  rush 

I 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

of  air  and  sunshine  and  fountain-made  music  that  came 
in  on  every  breath. 

Of  all  the  days  I  remember,  none  was  ever  more 
harmoniously  born  for  the  entrance  of  a  great  new  per- 
sonality into  my  hfe;  indeed,  he  who  was  even  then  on 
the  way  to  us  was  one  of  those  for  whom  beneficially 
invincible  influences  always  seemed  to  prepare  the  most 
characteristic  and  happy  setting.  I  knew  the  setting  was 
not  made  for  nothing,  and  as  I  wandered  through  the 
rooms,  pausing  to  smell  a  rose  or  glance  in  a  mirror,  I 
felt  that  the  delightful  happening  was  coming  nearer 
every  moment. 

It  was  before  the  mirror  that  it  caught  me,  rejoicing 
in  the  effect  of  sunlight  on  a  champagne-coloured  poplin 
frock  that  my  mother  had  just  given  me.  There  came 
a  ring  at  the  bell,  so  loud  and  long  that  I  was  too  startled 
to  move  for  a  minute,  but  then  I  flew  to  the  front  door, 

—  no  one  but  myself  should  answer  that  call,  —  and 
when  I  flung  the  portal  open  I  found  myself  instantly 
enfolded  in  a  mighty  embrace,  while  a  voice,  unheard 
since  my  earliest  childhood,  cried,  "You  are  Mimoli ! 
Ah,  I  knew  it!" 

"  Uncle  Sam !  "  I  managed  to  say  against  a  broad 
grey  shoulder,  and  then  he  held  me  off  to  look  at  me 
and  gave  me  a  chance  to  look  at  him.  How  I  remember 
it  now,  the  fine  face  so  like  my  mother's,  the  dark  eyes 

—  like  hers  too  but  full  of  sharper,  more  piercing  light 

—  the  beautiful,  harmonious  mouth,  the  full,  dominant 
brow  —  more  of  it  visible  than  of  old  when  the  brown 
hair  used  to  hang  a  little  over  it ! 

2 


ODESCALCHI    TO    BUCKINGHAM    PALACE 

The  hair  was  rather  grey  now  and  so  was  the  "  im- 
perial," which  I  remembered  so  well.  I  seemed  to  re- 
member even  the  shepherd's  plaid  suit  and  the  dark- 
red  tie  and  the  black  sapphire  on  the  right  hand.  Uncle 
Sam  1  We  had  been  hoping  year  after  year  that  he 
would  pay  us  a  visit,  and  he  had  come  at  last. 

I  led  him  as  far  as  the  red  room  and  there  he  stopped 
short,  sniffing  at  the  warm  flower-and-fire  scents  in  vis- 
ible delight.  "  Will  you  stay  here,"  I  asked,  "  while  I 
go  and  tell  mamma?  I  hope  she  won't  go  quite  crazy 
with  happiness!  " 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  he  replied,  and  drew  me  to  the 
window,  where,  with  the  sun  shining  into  his  eyes,  he 
felt  for  and  pulled  something  out  of  his  waistcoat  pocket. 
"  There,  my  dear,"  he  said,  "  that  is  for  you  —  because 
you  opened  the  door  to  me."  And  he  held  out  a  great 
lustrous  pearl  that  shimmered  as  if  it  had  a  living 
light  inside  of  it.  I  gasped  as  he  put  it  into  my  hand. 
"  Have  it  set  as  a  ring,"  he  commanded.  "  It  is  a  stud 
now." 

"  It 's  the  moon.  Uncle  Sam  —  you  have  given  me  the 
moon!  I  shall  never  have  to  cry  for  her  again!"  I 
was  so  overcome  that  I  forgot  to  thank  him. 

"  There,  go  and  call  your  mother,"  he  said,  laughing 
at  my  ecstasy  as  I  departed  to  do  as  I  was  bid. 

We  left  them  alone  for  a  little  while  and  then  we 
all  took  possession  of  him,  Annie  and  I  and  the  little 
children,  and  "  Paterno,"  as  we  called  my  step-father; 
and  the  good  Italian  servants  began  to  fly  about  in  sym- 
pathetic excitement  to  prepare   a  room   for  him,  while 

3 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

the  old  cook  thought  out  a  dream  of  a  breakfast.  But 
a  great  blow  was  in  store  for  us.  My  mother  brought 
it  on  herself  too  soon  —  for  one  should  never  ask  the 
fairies  about  their  gifts. 

"  You  will  stay  all  the  winter,  Sam!  "  she  said.  "  We 
must  have  a  Roman  spring  together." 

He  shook  his  head,  and  then  in  a  tone  of  terrific 
secrecy  he  replied,  "  Only  one  day  this  time,  Louisa. 
I  am  here  on  most  urgent  business  for  a  friend  of  mine 
—  the  Emperor  of  Brazil!  " 

How  the  dear  man  enjoyed  the  effect  of  that  dramatic 
announcement!  Our  amazed  silence  spoke  our  awe  better 
than  any  words  could  have  done.  He  went  on,  quite 
airily  now,  to  explain  that  it  was  a  matter  of  railways 
for  Brazil,  some  monster  contract  to  put  through  and 
financiers  to  interview,  though,  as  all  the  world  knows, 
Rome  has  not  been  noted  for  steel  or  money  for  a  good 
many  centuries  past,  and  then  the  steel,  at  any  rate,  did 
not  take  the  form  of  rails.  Whatever  the  business  was, 
it  was  completed,  to  Uncle  Sam's  apparent  satisfaction, 
during  the  first  hour  or  so  after  breakfast,  and  then  he 
returned  to  us  demanding  to  be  "  shown  Rome  "  before 
sunset.  It  was  his  first  visit  to  the  capital  of  the  world 
and  he  certainly  made  the  most  of  it,  for  he  managed 
to  see  St.  Peters',  part  of  the  Vatican  (as  a  great  favour, 
since  the  galleries  were  closed  on  Sundays),  the  Colos- 
seum, and  I  forget  how  much  more,  and  to  remember 
it  too,  though  he  was  talking  of  everything  under  the 
sun,  except  Rome,  all  the  time.  There  must  be  many 
living  still  who  can  recall  the  extraordinary  charm  of  his 

4 


ODESCALCHI    TO    BUCKINGHAM    PALACE 

talk,  —  that  torrent  of  anecdote,  reminiscence,  criticism 
—  this  last  ended  generally  in  delicately  trenchant  sar. 
casm,  —  many  who  can  smile  still,  remembering  his 
admirable  telling  of  ever-new  stories,  his  swift  character- 
isation of  men  and  women,  his  inimitably  witty  im- 
promptu speeches,  of  which  no  printed  record  could  give 
more  than  the  faintest  impression.  Ah,  dear  Uncle  Sam, 
who  that  ever  knew  you  did  not  love  you  ?  And  who  that 
loved  you  would  not  give  untold  treasure  for  one  hour 
of  your  golden  company,  could  you  but  come  back  to  us 
again? 

After  all,  I  think  it  was  in  his  serious  moments  that 
I  loved  him  best.  Even  on  that  first  day  there  was  a 
quiet  interval  when  all  the  sightseeing  was  done;  in  the 
falling  twilight  he  took  his  Horace  from  his  pocket 
and,  without  opening  the  worn  volume,  began  to  repeat 
the  description  of  the  Sabine  farm;  then,  yielding  to  the 
friendly  melancholy  of  the  Roman  dusk,  he  told  us  all 
that  Horace  had  been  to  him  through  life  and  earnestly 
recommended  me  to  make  the  great  poet  my  own.  "  No 
one  can  ever  be  lonely  or  sad  who  possesses  Horace," 
he  said.  "  All  my  life  I  have  carried  him  about  with 
me  and  he  is  the  most  faithful  and  sustaining  of  com- 
panions. Some  day  I  may  show  you  my  Horaces,  the 
greatest  treasure  in  my  library.  I  have  all  the  first  edi- 
tions known  to  exist,  but  this  little  brown  volume  is  the 
dearest  of  all.  It  never  leaves  me."  He  explained  the 
date  and  preciousness  of  the  wee  book  and  went  on: 
"  My  only  regret  to-day  is  that  I  cannot  get  out  to  visit 
the  farm.     But  that  will  be  for  next  time,  so  don't  be 

5 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

downhearted,  my  dear,"  for  I  was  ready  to  cry  at  the 
thought  of  his  departure  that  night.  "  I  shall  come  back 
very  soon.  I  could  not  keep  away  from  Rome  now 
that  I  have  seen  her." 

He  meant  what  he  said,  but  he  was  caught  back  and 
swept  on  by  the  tide  of  active  life,  which  was  his  real 
sphere,  and  to  Rome  he  did  not  return  for  many  years. 
Nevertheless,  that  one  triumphantly  joyful  day  forged  a 
new  link  in  the  chain  that  held  him  to  us,  and  when  we 
did  meet  again  there  was  no  sense  of  strangeness  and 
very  little  memory  of  intervening  separation.  Before, 
he  had  been  a  part  of  the  American  Legend  to  me, 
one  of  the  shining  realities  of  the  circle  across  the  water, 
with  which  my  mother's  indefatigable  correspondence  and 
my  own  early  memories  never  allowed  me  to  become 
unfamiliar.  But  after  his  coming  he  had  his  place  in 
my  own  life,  and  he  has  his  place  there  still,  with  my 
other  immortals. 

Samuel  Ward  was  my*  mother's  eldest  brother  and 
was  already  launched  in  life  when  my  grandfather  died. 
My  mother,  as  I  have  related  in  an  earlier  volume,^ 
was  then  sixteen,  —  the  second  of  the  three  sisters,  who 
all  lived  to  a  good  old  age.  The  eldest,  my  dear  Aunt 
Julia,  only  recently  passed  away,  in  her  ninety-third  year, 
younger  in  heart  and  brain  still  than  any  of  her  own 
or  the  next  generation.  There  were  three  more  brothers, 
but  they  were  not  endowed  with  the  extraordinary  vital- 
ity of  the  remainder  of  the  family  and  died  in  youth 
or  early  manhood,  having  made  but  little  mark  in  their 

'  See  "A  Diplomat's  Wife  in  Many  Lands." 

6 


ODESCALCHI    TO    BUCKINGHAM    PALACE 

time.  They  were  bright,  handsome  boys,  and  one,  my 
Uncle  Harry,  was  living  when,  as  a  little  girl,  I  was 
taken  to  America,  and  was  very  kind  to  me.  All  I  re- 
member of  him  was  his  sunny  face,  short  golden  hair, 
and  blue  eyes,  and  his  delightful  readiness  to  romp  with 
small  children.  Of  Uncle  Sam  I  saw  very  little  at  that 
time,  but  his  second  wife,  my  Aunt  Medora,  was  in- 
stantly set  up  in  my  heart  as  an  image  of  everything 
lovely  and  worshipful,  and  her  two  boys  were  sometimes 
playmates  of  ours  at  Bordentown.  The  history  of 
Uncle  Sam's  second  marriage  was  rather  a  stirring  one, 
owing  chiefly,  it  was  thought  in  the  family,  to  his  dismal 
bad  luck  in  choosing  a  mother-in-law. 

If  any  woman  can  be  said  to  have  justified  the  ordi- 
nary vulgar  conception  of  that  ever-risky  connection  by 
marriage,  that  woman  was  Mrs.  Grimes.  She  out- 
Mackenzied  Mrs.  Mackenzie  in  every  trait  except  the 
one  of  unkindness  to  her  offspring,  and  for  that  excep- 
tion she  may,  let  us  hope,  have  been  forgiven  her  other 
shortcomings.  Uncle  Sam,  rich,  young,  ardent,  and  in 
evident  need  of  consolation  for  the  untimely  death  of 
his  first  wife,  sweet  and  good  Emily  Astor,  at  once  caught 
the  discerning  eye  of  Mrs.  Grimes  when  (from  nowhere 
in  particular)  she  appeared  in  New  York  with  two 
beautiful  but  portionless  daughters.  He  was  musical, 
and  had  a  charming  voice  —  so  had  Medora;  and  she 
had,  besides,  the  feminine  grace,  the  large  dark  eyes, 
the  Madonna  forehead,  and  perfect  though  rather  ex- 
pressionless features  so  much  admired  in  the  post-By- 
ronic,   early-Victorian  period.     Her  colouring  was  like 

7 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

that  of  a  June  rose,  and  in  speaking  her  voice  was  rich 
and  sweet. 

She  and  her  sister  were,  I  think,  Creoles,  and  had  all 
the  glow  and  languor  of  their  accidental  origin,  and  their 
exotic  names,  Medora  and  AthenaTs,  suited  them  perfectly. 
My  chief  recollection  of  Aunt  Medora  is  a  very  bright 
and  pretty  one.  I  must  have  been  just  six  years  old 
when  I  was  sent  in  state  to  pay  her  a  morning  visit  in 
her  house  in  New  York.  It  was  in  summer  time  and  I 
found  her  standing  before  a  Louis  Quinze  dressing- 
table,  looking  at  herself  in  the  mirror  as  she  arranged 
her  dark  hair  in  wide  braids  low  over  her  ears,  in  the 
fashion  of  the  day.  There  was  a  plate  of  ripe  straw- 
berries on  the  dressing-table,  and  a  mixture  of  sweet  un- 
familiar perfumes  in  the  air.  Aunt  Medora  was  dressed 
In  an  embroidered  white  muslin  peignoir  that  had  an 
under-robe  of  pink  silk  just  the  colour  of  her  cheeks. 
The  sun  came  into  the  big  luxurious  bedroom  through 
green  Venetian  blinds  and  one  long  shaft  lay  on  the 
moss-green  carpet.  She  smiled  at  me  and  held  out  the 
plate  of  strawberries,  saying,  "  Sit  down  on  the  floor,  my 
dear,  and  eat  them  while  I  finish  doing  my  hair." 

It  was  such  a  delightful  way  of  receiving  a  child.  No 
putting  one  on  one's  best  behaviour  and  making  one  an- 
swer a  lot  of  stupid  questions  —  just  the  fragrant  fruit 
and  the  soft  carpet  and  the  stealing  sunshine,  and  her 
beautiful  self  to  look  at  in  happy  silence.  When  she 
had  finished  her  toilet  and  I  the  strawberries,  she  got 
out  her  guitar  and  sang  to  me  the  songs  that  had  sung 
her  into  my  uncle's  heart,  —  "  Oh,  bring  to  me  my  Arab 

8 


ODESCALCHI    TO    BUCKINGHAM    PALACE 

Steed,"  "  The  Minstrel  Boy  to  the  Wars  is  gone,"  "  My 
Earrings,  my  Earrings,  I  've  dropped  them  in  the  well," 
and  I  don't  know  how  many  more,  —  songs  that  entirely 
met  the  emotional  wants  of  our  simple-minded  forbears, 
but  whose  very  titles  send  people  into  fits  of  laughter 
now.  I  doubt  if  we  are  any  the  better  for  that.  Sen- 
timentality with  a  large  S  keeps  people  much  younger 
than  realism  with  a  small  r.  I  had  thought  that  Aunt 
Medora  must  be  old,  because  my  cousins  were  great 
boys  of  twelve  and  thirteen,  but  when  I  saw  her  that 
day  I  concluded  that  there  was  some  mistake;  I  felt 
with  certainty  that,  though  she  was  so  beautiful  and 
looked  so  grown  up,  she  was  in  reality  not  much  older 
than  myself,  so  completely  had  she  understood  my  child- 
ish inclinations  and  sympathies. 

I  think  Aunt  Medora  was  a  very  simple  person,  and 
as  my  Uncle  Sam  was  an  extremely  complex  one,  she 
understood  only  the  sides  of  his  character  which  ap- 
pealed to  her.  This  need  not  have  come  between  them, 
perhaps,  since  such  is  the  case  with  many  harmonious 
couples;  but  alas,  the  old  lady,  her  mother,  was  of  a 
disposition  neither  simple  nor  harmonious.  Aggressive, 
domineering,  and  grasping,  she  heated  misunderstand- 
ings to  quarrels,  made  herself  disliked  by  the  whole  of 
the  Ward  family,  and  inspired  in  Uncle  Sam's  generous 
heart  the  only  hatred  I  believe  it  ever  nourished.  In 
after  years,  long  after  the  death  of  Medora  and  the  two 
sons,  —  neither  of  them  grew  to  manhood,  poor  boys,  — 
he  used  to  say,  alluding  to  his  mother-in-law,  "  She  is 
still  alive,  but  I  shall  outlive  her."     I  happened  to  be 

9 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

with  him  when  he  received  the  announcement  that  she 
had  at  last  passed  away,  and  his  naughty  jubilation  would 
have  scandalised  any  one  ignorant  of  the  provocations 
he  had  endured.  He  was  an  old  gentleman  himself  by 
that  time,  but  the  memory  of  his  early  trials  was  still 
hot  within  him,  and  he  skipped  around  the  room  like  a 
boy  exclaiming,  "  I  have  outlived  her !  I  have  outlived 
her!" 

My  next  meeting  with  Uncle  Sam  took  place  in  Lon- 
don, in  the  winter  of  1879-80.  My  husband  returned 
from  China  and  rejoined  me  in  Rome  in  the  May  of 
'79,  and  soon  afterwards  we  travelled  to  England,  where 
he  wished  to  spend  his  few  months  of  leave  after  his 
five  years'  stay  in  China.  Our  children  were  still  small 
and  exceedingly  rampant,  not  good  travelling  companions 
for  their  father,  whose  nerves  were  always  rather  over- 
strung and  just  now  in  crying  need  of  rest;  so  I  sent 
him  on  before  us  and  followed  a  couple  of  days  later 
with  their  nurse,  a  much-travelled  woman,  who  had  re- 
placed our  Chinese  amah  when  the  latter  returned  to  the 
East.  Incidentally  I  had  a  very  pleasant  experience  on 
that  journey.  One  of  my  childhood's  friends,  Gordon 
Greenough,  the  son  of  the  well-known  sculptor  of  that 
name,  had  come  to  Rome  during  the  preceding  winter 
with  John  Sargent,  They  had  both  been  studying  in  Paris 
and  were  generally  looked  upon  as  inseparables.  Young 
Greenough  was,  we  all  thought,  quite  as  gifted  as  Sar- 
gent, although  in  the  strict  routine  of  the  Paris  "  ate- 
liers "  he  had  only  just  been  advanced  beyond  charcoal 
drawing,   to   which   Carolus   Duran,   whose   pupils   they 

10 


ODESCALCHI    TO    BUCKINGHAM    PALACE 

both  were,  held  his  aspirants  sternly  for  two  years,  while 
Sargent  was  already  playing  about  joyously  on  rainbow 
oceans  of  oil  colour.  Gordon's  drawings  —  he  executed 
some  striking  portraits  that  winter  —  had  a  "  maestria  " 
and  a  fidelity  which  promised  great  things  for  his  future, 
and  he  had  besides  a  peculiarly  charming  personality 
and  just  that  touch  of  romance  without  which  youth  is 
never  quite  youth.  He  is  one  of  those  who  will  be  young 
forever,  for  the  future  never  came,  here.  He  died  a 
few  years  after  that  winter  in  Rome.  Our  last  meeting, 
in  Paris,  was  one  which  I  have  always  been  able  to  look 
back  upon  with  the  greatest  pleasure.  Mrs.  Greenough,  a 
brilliant  and  charming  woman  from  whom  I  had  received 
untold  kindness,  wrote  to  tell  her  son  I  was  passing 
through  Paris,  and  Gordon  rose  to  the  occasion  gal- 
lantly. At  four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  after  an  all- 
through  journey  from  Rome,  our  train  crawled  into  the 
Gare  de  Lyons,  and  the  first  face  that  showed  at  our  win- 
dow was  that  of  my  dear  Gordon,  smiling  joyfully  and 
ready  to  take  our  rather  forlorn  little  party  in  hand.  How 
glad  I  was  to  see  him !  I  had  just  had  one  of  those  hours 
of  black  fatigue  and  depression  which  I  have  come  to 
know  too  well  since,  for  they  almost  always  attack  me 
at  the  end  of  a  lonely  journey  to  some  unfamiliar  place. 
My  responsibilities  had  been  looming  monstrous  ever 
since  the  grey  dawn  shone  in  through  the  compartment 
window,  and  I  had  been,  as  the  saying  is,  "  kicking  my- 
self "  for  having  let  my  natural  protector  go  on  alone. 
I  had  not  been  in  Paris  for  many  years  and  never  knew 
it  well,  and  I  was  sure  I  should  lose  my  children  and 

II 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

my  nurse  and  all  my  money  before  I  made  the  Gare 
du  Nord.  So  the  relief  was  proportionately  great  when 
Gordon  took  us  in  charge  in  his  masterful  way,  packed 
us  and  our  many  belongings  into  a  carriage,  and  told  the 
driver  to  go  to  the  Continental.  Then  I  found  my 
breath  to  ask  him  the  one  question  which  appeared  in- 
soluble to  my  knowledge  of  his  habits.  "  How  on  earth 
did  you  manage  to  get  up  in  time?  " 

"Get  up!"  he  exclaimed,  "why,  nobody  could  do 
that!  I  didn't  try.  I  haven't  been  to  bed  —  yet.  It 
is  not  so  very  late,  you  know!  " 

We  were  expected  at  the  Continental,  Hugh  having 
reserved  rooms  for  us  on  his  way  through,  and  a  couple 
of  hours  later  the  journey  and  its  dust  was  forgotten 
and  I  was  all  ready  for  my  friend  when  he  turned  up 
to  take  me  out  for  the  day.  The  babies  I  could  safely 
leave  to  Marguerite,  who  had  lived  much  in  Paris  and 
was  looking  forward  to  showing  them  the  toyshops  and 
the  Champs  Elysees,  and  Gordon  and  I  set  out  on  a 
holiday  wandering  in  which  we  took  turns  to  decide  on 
the  points  to  be  made  for.  Of  course  I  started  with  the 
Louvre.  I  had  not  been  there  since  I  was  fourteen,  and 
the  Venus  of  Milo  and  Mona  Lisa  were  calling  me  aloud. 
We  were  very  silent  there,  and  very  happy.  Then  the 
boy  said,  "  It  Is  my  turn  now.  I  am  going  to  take  you 
to  my  place,  the  Salon."  So  to  the  Salon  we  went,  and 
for  hours  we  wandered  from  one  room  to  another  in 
the  curious  exuberance  of  mind  that  fine  modern  art  al- 
ways produces.  No  wistful  straining  of  the  spirit's  wings 
there,   no  awe,  no   reverential  melancholy,   no  poignant 

12 


ODESCALCHI    TO    BUCKINGHAM    PALACE 

questionings  from  the  blind  present  to  the  all-seeing  glory 
of  the  past  —  just  contemporary  thoughts,  ideals  and  ef- 
forts, all  of  which  can  be  judged  and  appraised  without 
danger  of  presumption.  And  that  year  the  Salon  was 
very  interesting,  dominated  as  it  was  by  Carolus  Duran's 
splendid  portraits.  I  liked  the  "  Enfant  Rouge  "  the  best 
of  all,  I  remember.  But  there  were  others  —  one  par- 
ticularly of  some  unknown  woman  in  black  —  which  were 
almost  as  good.  There  were  some  fair  attempts  at  sculp- 
ture and  Rodin  was  well  in  evidence,  but  my  classical 
upbringing  made  it  impossible  for  me  to  be  very  enthu- 
siastic about  him.  The  French  art  of  the  Second  Empire 
was  still  in  the  ascendancy,  still  the  loving  though  self- 
asserting  child  of  Meissonnier,  Millet,  Corot,  and  the 
great  ones  of  their  day,  and  the  gaiety  and  grace  and 
colour  of  the  many  paintings  supplied  what  may  have 
been  lacking  in  idea.  Upstairs  were  the  galleries  of 
drawings,  where  some  of  Gordon's  own  were  well  hung, 
and  he  lingered  over  these  tenderly  and  prophetically, 
his  mind  full  of  the  great  pictures  which  he  promised 
himself  should  hang,  before  long,  in  places  of  honour 
in  the  rotunda  below. 

The  rest  of  the  day  —  well,  I  do  not  remember  it  so 
clearly  —  we  lunched  outrageously  late,  mooned  in  the 
Bois,  fribbled  in  the  Rue  de  Rivoli,  *'  must  have  dined 
somewhere,"  as  the  pleasant  woman  in  "  The  Liars " 
says,  and  talked  three  quarters  of  the  night. 

Realities  gripped  me  the  next  morning.  An  affection- 
ate but  awe-inspiring  husband  was  waiting  for  me  at 
Folkestone,  the  nurse  was  simply  tyrannical  about  the 

13 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

rugs  and  coats  and  lunch-baskets  she  would  carry  round 
for  the  children,  and  my  smallest  boy  —  aged  not  quite 
three  —  was  extremely  angry  with  me  for  some  reason 
and  vented  his  wrath  in  strange  French  threats  all  the 
way  to  the  Gare  du  Nord.  "  Ce  n'est  pas  pour  les 
prunes  quand  je  suis  fache  avec  ma  f emme !  "  was  one,  I 
remember,  and  "  Ce  n'est  pas  moi  qui  veux  travailler  pour 
le  Roi  de  Prusse,"  a  phrase  which  then  meant  working 
for  nothing.  The  faithful  Gordon,  who  again  appeared 
at  some  unearthly  hour  to  see  us  to  the  station,  this  time 
with  a  "  botte  de  roses  "  a  yard  long  in  one  hand  and 
a  parcel  of  the  newest  French  books  in  the  other,  was 
dying  to  box  his  ears,  and  very  nearly  threw  his  nurse, 
Marguerite,  out  of  the  window  when,  interrupting  our 
last  precious  minutes  of  conversation,  she  respectfully 
drew  my  attention  to  the  spot  where  some  years  before 
a  now  forgotten  criminal  called  Troppman  had  been  exe- 
cuted for  slaughtering  an  entire  family,  thus  giving  rise 
to  the  term  "  Troppmanniser,"  to  describe  wholesale 
murder. 

It  was  good-bye  to  all  my  own  airs  when  the  train 
steamed  out  of  the  station,  for  I  always  leave  my  real 
self  in  storage  when  I  go  to  England,  and  my  dear  Hugh 
had  very  little  use  at  any  time  for  the  Mediterranean- 
born  side  of  my  personality.  Also  it  was  good-bye  to 
Gordon  Greenough,  though,  thank  God!  we  neither  of 
us  knew  it  then.  That  night  I  was  introduced  to  the 
expensive  discomfort  of  an  English  provincial  hotel  — 
cotton  sheets,  grimy  rooms,  sulky  servants,  smells  of  stale 
cold  meats  and  musty  pickles  everywhere,  a  brown  Bible 

14 


ODESCALCHI    TO    BUCKINGHAM    PALACE 

In  every  bedroom,  "  baths  extra,"  and  the  hideous  neces- 
sity of  going  downstairs  to  breakfast  staring  me  in  the 
face  for  the  morning !  The  next  day  we  all  went  up  to 
Bath,  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  Hugh's  mother  and 
sister.  Let  us  "  dror  a  veil,"  as  Jeames  says,  over  first 
impression,  not  of  those  Icind,  good  ladies  themselves, 
but  of  the  awful  melancholy  and  dulness  of  all  their 
surroundings.  I  was  young,  and  only  half  disciplined  yet, 
and  if  I  had  known  any  swear-words,  I  believe  I  should 
have  used  them  all  on  every  one  of  the  thirty  days  we 
stayed  in  that  depressing  place.  It  rained  all  the  time, 
the  black  pillars  of  the  porticos  on  the  big  forsaken 
Georgian  houses  grew  blacker  and  shinier  every  day.  I 
never  went  out  without  ruining  a  frock,  and  I  was  thank- 
ful when  we  could  leave  and  run  down  to  Bonchurch  in 
the  Isle  of  Wight,  where  I  had  persuaded  Hugh  to  take 
a  house  for  the  few  remaining  months  of  our  holiday.  I 
had  affectionate  recollections  of  the  pretty  place,  and 
wanted  also  to  see  the  dear  "  Aunts  "  again  and  renew 
many  a  quaint  pleasant  memory  of  the  childish  years  I 
had  spent  under  their  tutelage. 

They,  and  the  Undercliff,  and  the  sea,  were  all  that 
I  had  lovingly  remembered  for  so  long,  but  the  effects 
on  my  health  of  the  four  years  in  Peking  were  still 
acute,  in  spite  of  all  the  nursing  at  home,  and  at  last  I 
made  up  my  mind  to  go  up  to  London  and  consult  a 
certain  great  specialist  as  to  how  to  get  well  again. 
When  I  wrote  to  my  mother  about  this  decision,  she  in- 
stantly informed  me  that  Uncle  Sam  Ward  was  in  town, 
with  the  other  uncle,  Adolphe  Mailliard,  and  that  she 

15 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

was  apprising  them  of  my  coming,  so  I  went  willingly 
enough,  Hugh  consenting  to  stay  behind  and  look  after 
the  children  for  a  fortnight. 

In  spite  of  invalidism  it  was  a  royal  fortnight  for  me. 
I  found  the  two  uncles  waiting  for  me  with  open  arms, 
and  if  ever  a  young  woman  was  spoiled  by  men  who 
made  a  fine  art  of  spoiling,  it  was  myself.  They  made 
me  their  guest  at  Brown's  Hotel,  and  dear  Uncle  Sam, 
although  just  then  one  of  the  most  sought-after  men  in 
town,  devoted  himself  to  looking  after  me.  An  amusing 
thing  happened  on  the  occasion  of  the  great  specialist's 
first  visit.  He  had  given  me  a  thorough  overhauling, 
resulting  in  a  not  very  encouraging  verdict  with  accom- 
panying advice.  I  then  expected  him  to  take  his  leave, 
but  he  lingered  about  in  a  perplexing  way,  and  I  was 
wondering  whether  he  was  trying  to  summon  up  reso- 
lution to  pronounce  my  approaching  death  warrant  when, 
to  my  amazement,  he  asked  for  his  fee.  Seeing  my  sur- 
prise (for  I  was  unaware  that  eminent  physicians  would 
condescend  to  be  paid  on  the  spot),  he  explained  that 
men  of  physicians'  rank  could  not  legally  collect  accounts, 
and,  as  I  was  not  a  resident  in  town,  he  would  like  to 
take  the  two  guineas  with  him.  My  maid  had  gone  out 
of  the  room,  and  all  I  could  do  was  to  give  him  from 
under  my  pillow  the  key  of  my  dressing-case  and  tell  him 
to  help  himself,  which  he  did  with  much  seriousness.  He 
had  to  hunt  around  some  time  among  my  jewelry  and 
smelling-bottles  for  the  right  coins,  and  when  he  had 
found  them,  locked  the  case,  gave  me  back  the  key  and 
bowed  himself  out  with  quite  the  grand  manner.     His 

i6 


ODESCALCHI    TO    BUCKINGHAM    PALACE 

keenness  for  payment  proved  unfortunate  to  him,  for 
dear  Uncle  Sam  had  been  waiting  outside  on  the  landing 
with  five  guineas,  which  he  tried  to  press  into  the  learned 
gentleman's  hand.  The  latter,  to  his  chagrin,  had  to 
confess  that  he  had  already  collected  his  fee,  and  went 
away,  as  he  afterwards  told  me  himself,  three  guineas 
the  poorer  for  his  pains. 

As  I  have  said,  Uncle  Sam  was  just  then  the  fashion 
in  London  and  was  immensely  enjoying  his  popularity. 
I  think  he  had  come  over  merely  to  accompany  Uncle 
Adolphe,  who  was  selling  thoroughbred  horses  from  his 
California  stud  to  certain  big  racing  men,  and  the  two 
were  inseparable,  though  Uncle  Sam,  being  specially 
gifted  in  that  way,  did  all  the  talking.  They  formed 
a  great  contrast  —  Uncle  Adolphe  tall,  quiet,  slim,  and 
as  handsome  as  ever,  and  Uncle  Sam,  short,  thickset, 
but  finely  built,  bubbling  over  with  sociability  and  frankly 
enchanted  at  having  such  a  good  time. 

Uncle  Sam  had  struck  up  a  great  friendship  with  Mr. 
Gladstone  and  just  then  Mr.  Gladstone  was  at  the  height 
of  his  fame,  his  name,  either  for  praise  or  blame,  being 
in  every  mouth.  Uncle  Sam  accompanied  him  on  an 
oratorical  campaign  in  Midlothian,  and  once,  when  things 
had  gone  more  triumphantly  than  usual  even,  was  Im- 
pelled to  make  a  speech  of  congratulation.  As  I  have 
said,  he  was  past-master  In  such  arts,  but  Lord  Rose- 
bery,  who  was  standing  at  his  elbow,  became  alarmed 
at  the  elaborate  rhetoric  of  his  opening  peroration,  and 
a  panic-struck  whisper  hissed  Into  Uncle  Sam's  ear, 
"Look    out,    you're    getting   muddled!"      "/.'"      My 

17 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

uncle's  eyes  flashed  fire  as  he  recounted  the  Incident  to 
me,  and  his  laugh  rang  with  victory  as  he  added,  "  He 
didn't  know  me,  did  he?" 

Lord  Rosebery's  warning  was  prompted  only  by  his 
great  friendship  for  the  speaker,  a  friendship  testified 
to  in  every  possible  way  then,  when  the  party  was  stay- 
ing at  Dalmeny  and  enjoying  the  gracious  hospitality 
of  Lady  Hannah,  as  her  friends  were  prone  to  call 
Lady  Rosebery.  Like  everybody  else.  Uncle  Sam  be- 
came her  devoted  slave,  and  a  couple  of  years  later, 
when,  for  the  third  time  in  his  life,  he  was  mulcted  of 
a  large  fortune  by  his  misplaced  trust  in  unworthy  per- 
sons, was  deeply  touched  by  the  Roseberys'  earnest 
request  that  he  would  look  upon  their  home  as  his  own. 
Another  friend,  the  late  Duke  of  Sutherland,  promptly 
tendered  him  a  similar  invitation,  and  these  kindnesses, 
although  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  take  advantage 
of  them,  went  far  towards  reconciling  him  to  the  loss 
of  his  money  —  a  very  serious  misfortune  to  a  man  of 
his  age  and  tastes. 

I  think  the  tempters  were  beginning  to  lay  their  snares 
for  him  when  we  were  together  in  London.  I  remember 
a  luncheon  at  Brown's  Hotel,  ordered  after  much  re- 
flection on  my  uncle's  part  (and  he  was  an  artistic  expert 
in  gastronomy)  at  which  I  was  ordered  to  appear  with 
my  best  frock  and  sweetest  smile,  as  I  was  to  make  the 
acquaintance  of  some  great  friends  of  his.  Luckily  they 
were  late,  for  Uncle  Sam  did  not  turn  up  till  the  last 
moment,  when  he  burst  in,  radiant  as  usual,  and  pro- 
duced    a     camembert     cheese     from     under    his     coat. 

i8 


ODESCALCHI    TO    BUCKINGHAM    PALACE 

*'  There  's  only  one  place  In  town  where  you  can  get 
the  real  ones,"  he  exclaimed,  and  then,  as  I  sniffed  the 
thing  critically,  he  went  on:  "  Yes,  I  've  carried  It  all  the 
way  down  Piccadilly!  I  wonder  If  you  would  have  had 
the  courage  to  do  that?" 

At  that  moment  his  friends  arrived,  a  rising  journalist 
looking  rather  overawed,  his  pretty,  appealing  young 
wife,  and  another  man,  who  supplied  all  the  talk  and, 
I  fancy,  the  brains  of  the  party.  I  do  not  remember 
or  wish  to  remember  their  names  —  I  did  not  take  to 
them  and  never  saw  any  of  them  again,  but  1  have  never 
been  able  to  disconnect  them  with  the  sad  losses  which 
ensued.  Uncle  Sam  never  said  a  single  hard  word  about 
any  one  connected  with  or  responsible  for  those  losses  — 
Indeed,  as  my  dear  mother  said,  "  God  gave  him  large- 
ness of  heart  as  the  sands  of  the  sea." 

I  parted  with  the  uncles  at  the  end  of  a  fortnight  and 
returned  to  Bonchurch,  where  earlier  in  the  year  my 
mother  and  younger  sister  had  joined  us  and  remained 
for  some  weeks  before  going  to  America,  where  they 
were  called  by  the  disastrous  condition  of  my  mother's 
affairs,  to  which  I  referred  in  a  former  volume.  The 
having  or  not  having  money  never  sat  very  heavily  on 
any  of  our  family,  and  my  mother  was  her  charming, 
benign  self,  ready  to  enjoy  the  divine  charm  of  the 
climate,  the  "Violets  of  the  Undercllff,"  the  pleasant  talk 
of  the  dear  Sewells,  and  the  hours  with  me,  without  any 
repining  or  fussing  as  to  future  arrangements.  The 
Sewells  gathered  In  force  that  summer;  the  nephews' 
and  nieces'  voices  filled  Ashcllff  during  the  holidays  and 

19 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

I  had  great  pleasure  In  meeting  again  with  some  of  them, 
notably  with  Robert  Sewell,  who,  as  a  very  young  man, 
had  been  most  kind  to  Jennie  and  myself  when  we  had 
to  stay  at  Bonchurch  during  the  Christmas  holidays,  our 
Roman  home  being  too  distant  to  travel  to  for  those 
few  winter  weeks.  We  had  known  him  as  "  Bob,"  and 
"Bob"  he  remained  for  me,  though  by  1879  he  had 
passed  into  the  Indian  Civil  Service  with  flying  colours 
and  was  in  the  eyes  of  his  world  a  personage  of  impor- 
tance. We  met  again  a  few  years  ago,  in  London,  and 
stared  at  each  other,  realising  rather  painfully  the  march 
of  time.  He  had  retired  with  honour  from  his  long 
hard  work,  and  was  bringing  out  a  learned  but  most 
thrillingly  interesting  work  called  "  A  Forgotten  Em- 
pire," which,  I  remember,  I  read  eagerly  and  forgot 
to  thank  him  for  —  how  many  golden  apples  one  does 
not  pause  to  pick  up  in  life's  race! 

We  all  went  our  different  ways  after  that  summer 
of  reunion;  my  people  stayed  long  in  America;  Marlon 
was  in  India;  events  there  and  nearer  home  cast  a 
cloud  of  depression  over  public  feeling,  and  Hugh 
and  I  were  glad  enough  when  he  received  his  appoint- 
ment to  Vienna.  One  formality  which  I  have  never 
chronicled  had  to  be  gone  through  before  proceeding  to 
our  new  post  —  my  presentation  to  the  Sovereign,  who 
had  at  last  emerged  from  her  overlong  seclusion  and 
shown  herself  to  her  grumblingly  faithful  subjects.  How 
deeply  her  abandonment  of  them  was  felt  and  how  little 
she  seemed  to  know  of  their  feelings  on  the  subject! 
During  the  years  of  my  education   at  Bonchurch  I   re- 

20 


ODESCALCHI    TO    BUCKINGHAM    PALACE 

member  a  melancholy  parody  of  an  old  hymn,   which 
was  always  in  the  air. 


Where  is  our  gracious  Queen? 

Far,  far  away! 
Where  is  Victoria  seen? 

Far,  far  away,  etc.,  etc. 

I  could  not  make  my  bow  in  Vienna  without  having 
been  presented,  so  Hugh  took  me  up  to  town  for  a 
distracting  fortnight  of  shoppings  and  tryings-on,  both 
of  us  grudging  the  time  from  the  heavenly  spring  days 
down  in  the  Isle  of  Wight.  At  last  the  great  day  ar- 
rived and  I  was  taken  in  charge  by  dear  Mary  Clarke 
(nee  Rose),  to  whom  the  ways  of  Buckingham  Palace 
were  as  familiar  as  they  were  unknown  to  me.  It  was 
the  first  time  since  I  was  a  baby  that  I  had  found  myself 
driving  through  the  streets  by  morning  light  in  a  low 
dress,  and  I  felt  as  if  I  ought  to  be  arrested  for  dis- 
orderly conduct.  But  I  was  only  one  of  hundreds,  pass- 
ing between  lines  of  staring  people  who  voiced  their 
opinions  of  our  frocks  and  faces  quite  without  reserve. 
When  we  reached  the  august  domicile  my  friend  shot 
me  out  into  the  crowd  and  drove  off  to  the  "  Petite  En- 
tree "  of  which  she  had  the  privilege,  and  I  at  once  lost 
my  individuality  in  the  herds  of  ridiculously  dressed 
women,  of  whom  I  was  one.  Driven  from  pen  to  pen 
like  instalments  of  sheep,  —  only  sheep  is  not  the  right 
term  for  a  mob  of  over-dressed,  elbowing,  red-faced 
women  who  behaved  like  famished  animals  fighting  for 
a  place  at  the  troughs,  —  passing  from  one  ugly,  com- 

21 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

monplace  room  to  another  through  a  "  gulchet  "  turned 
by  a  lounging  thing  in  uniform,  which  I  afterwards 
learnt  was  a  Life  Guardsman,  shivering  with  cold  and 
longing  for  the  cup  of  tea  or  bouillon  which  pecunious 
royalty  refuses  to  provide,  two  or  three  of  the  weariest 
hours  of  my  life  passed  in  this  way,  lightened  only  by 
one  humorous  incident.  My  instalment  of  the  mob  in- 
cluded a  certain  peeress  whom  I  vaguely  remembered  as 
an  assiduous  visitor  in  my  mother's  house  in  days  gone 
by.  The  poor  woman  had  forgotten  the  name  and 
Standing  of  the  man  I  had  married,  and  was  evidently 
torn  with  anxiety  as  to  whether  she  had  better  renew 
the  acquaintance  or  not.  But  she  had  with  her  a  nice 
chatty  young  daughter,  very  badly  dressed  but  brim- 
ming over  with  goodwill  and  interest,  and  before  her 
mother  had  had  a  chance  to  get  a  look  at  my  card  the 
girl  had  told  me  how  much  "  Mamma  "  had  enjoyed 
the  hospitality  of  the  Odescalchi  in  old  days,  etc.,  etc. 
But  "  Mamma  "  was  icy  until,  in  pity  for  her,  I  turned 
the  card  in  my  hand,  when  her  eagle  eye  discerned 
Lady  Salisbury's  name  as  my  official  godmother,  and  the 
ice  thawed  at  once.  We  were  separated  soon  after  that, 
my  train  was  lifted  off  my  arm  and  deftly  spread  by 
the  Gold-sticks,  and  the  next  instant  I  was  making  my 
best  "  plongeon  "  to  the  Queen,  who  smiled  very  kindly 
down  on  me  as  I  kissed  her  hand.  I  was  not  too  '*  rat- 
tled "  to  notice  the  low  clear  tone  in  which  my  name 
was  communicated  to  her  by  the  man  at  her  elbow,  or 
the  little  sideways  bend  of  the  head  with  which  she 
received  it  —  as  if  one  modest  name  more  or  less  could 

22 


ODESCALCHI    TO    BUCKINGHAM    PALACE 

possibly  matter  among  the  hundreds  that  were  on  the 
lists  of  the  day! 

There  was  a  long  file  of  Princes  and  Princesses,  all 
in  their  best  clothes  and  proper  order,  beyond  the  Queen, 
and  I  was  not  quite  sure  how  many  of  them  expected 
curtseys.  I  wanted  to  pause  before  the  Princesses,  only 
to  see  their  frocks  and  jewels,  —  for  the  poor  things' 
faces  were  so  bored  and  tired  that  they  looked  less  ani- 
mated than  their  likenesses  at  Madame  Tussaud's,  —  but 
my  American  soul  revolted  when  the  men  of  the  family 
stared  without  even  bending  their  heads  as  I  passed  by, 
so  I  tossed  mine  in  the  air  and  ran  right  into  the  arms 
of  the  friendly  Gold-sticks  (who  were  laughing,  the 
wretches)  and  out  into  the  hubbub  of  the  great  hall 
beyond.  There  I  came  to  a  sudden  standstill  to  gaze 
at  one  of  the  most  beautiful  girls  I  had  ever  seen  — 
the  present  Lady  Warwick.  She  looked  like  a  white 
hyacinth  crowned  with  red  gold. 

For  the  rest  I  suppose  my  friend  found  me  and  brought 
me  home,  but  I  remember  nothing  more  until  the  happy 
moment  when,  having  shudderingly  cast  aside  my  finery, 
I  got  into  a  soft  tea-gown  and  a  deep  armchair,  and  the 
sympathetic  maid  brought  me  a  cup  of  tea.  It  was  the 
first  atom  of  comfort  I  had  had  all  day. 

"  The  first  turn  at  the  Mill,  my  dear,"  remarked  my 
husband  grimly.     "  You  will  get  used  to  it  in  time." 

"  II  en  parlait  bien  a  son  aise,"  dear  man,  for  he  ab- 
solutely refused  to  attend  a  Levee,  and  whirled  me  off 
to  the  country  at  once.  Many  tempting  invitations  fol- 
lowed us  there,   for  the  season  was  opening  brilliantly, 

23 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

but  we  knew  there  would  be  plenty  of  hard  work  of  that 
kind  in  Vienna  and  except  for  one  or  two  visits  to 
country  houses  we  gave  the  last  weeks  of  our  leave  to 
the  sea  and  the  myrtles  and  the  balmy,  sunshot  mists  of 
the  Isle  of  Wight. 


24 


II 

IN    AND    OUT    OF    BAVARIA 

A  Forgotten  Picture  in  the  House  of  Thought  —  A  Premature  Excursion 
and  a  Breach  of  Discipline  —  The  First  Fairy  Story  —  Croatian  Nurses  — 
The  Maslced  Lady  —  A  Summer  at  Weissenbach — A  Mad  King  and 
a  Wise  Regent  —  The  Emperor  and  Count  Andrassy  —  Haynau  the 
Repressor. 

THE  House  of  Thought  is  full  of  forgotten  pictures. 
They  hang  in  secret  chambers  reached  only 
through  many  a  twist  and  turn  of  the  labyrinth  of  memory ; 
a  touch  of  colour  or  a  whiff  of  perfume,  perhaps  the  half- 
heard  tinkle  of  a  distant  bell,  and  the  clue  has  dropped 
into  one's  palm,  vibrating  with  the  ever-seductive  whis- 
per, "Follow  and  you  shall  find!"  And  Thought 
springs  up,  leaving  life's  exchange  of  custom  for  the 
shadowy  love-haunted  realms  of  her  own  domain,  and, 
following,  finds  the  unknown  door  that  opens  to  her 
touch  and  reveals  one  more  sweet  living  vision,  gar- 
nered in  the  sunshine,  forgotten  in  the  storm,  but  glow- 
ing now,  radiant  as  ever  before  the  eyes  of  the  hom- 
ing soul. 

To  one  such  I  was  led  a  few  nights  ago.  The  spend- 
thrift gold  of  autumn  on  my  Pacific  Slope  had  first  lulled, 
then  intoxicated  me  with  its  glory.  The  winter  seemed 
a  thousand  years  away;  the  river  ran  in  peacock  blues 
and  greens  between  the  fields  where  the  ricks  stood,  not 
grey,  but  gold,  "  to  the  sun."    Long  stretches  of  alfalfa 

25 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

lay  like  breadths  of  emerald  velvet  on  the  rich  lowland 
where  the  costly  irrigation  ditches  still  shot  out  their 
bounty;  the  mignonette  in  the  garden  sent  fragrant 
greetings  through  the  open  windows  (how  its  faithful 
sweetness  has  followed  me  round  the  world!),  and  the 
thick-coated  brown-and-white  yearlings  came  and  rubbed 
their  innocent  noses  against  the  gate  without  trying  to 
break  through  —  there  was  plenty  of  crisp  fresh  feed 
outside ! 

Then,  in  an  hour,  the  winter  leapt  upon  us.  Snow 
and  sleet,  grey  skies  and  arctic  winds  laid  a  colourless 
pall  over  the  country;  the  full  moon  came  up  a  few 
hours  later  like  a  shield  of  ice  and  looked  down  on  a 
white,  white  world.  A  sleigh  flew  by,  noiseless  but  for 
its  ripple  of  bells.  The  year  was  dead,  and  I  turned, 
shivering,  from  the  vision  of  its  obsequies,  to  catch  sight 
of  a  shred  of  blue  stuff  that  had  blown  out  of  some 
arcana  of  my  forgotten  possessions.  But  what  a  blue! 
It  caught  me  like  an  embrace,  and  for  an  hour  I  stormed 
my  memory  for  its  name  and  home.  Then  it  came  to 
me  where  I  had  seen  it  once,  and  only  once,  before. 

An  April  morning  in  the  upper  Austrian  Tyrol;  a  cold 
yet  cloudless  sky;  a  great  indigo  lake,  stretching  away 
from  the  low  woody  shore  before  me  to  lap  silently 
against  the  sheer  black  wall  of  the  Drachenberg,  far  to 
the  southward;  on  forest  and  peak  and  sweeping  meadow 
an  immaculate  mantle  of  fresh-fallen  snow  of  that  liv- 
ing whiteness  which  lasts  but  an  hour;  and  on  the  snow, 
as  if  Spring,  performing  polite  little  obsequies  over 
Winter's  grave,  had  fled  in  haste  from  his  unwelcome 

26 


IN    AND   OUT   OF    BAVARIA 

resurrection  and  had  dropped  all  her  blossoms  as  she 
ran,  millions  of  blue  periwinkles  buried  up  to  their  necks 
in  the  snow,  but  spreading  hopeful  petals  wide  upon 
it  to  sun  and  sky.  The  ethereal  whiteness  below  them, 
the  crisp  glory  of  the  air  above,  shot  through  those  petals 
such  a  blue  as  Fra  Beato  dreamt  of  when  he  painted  his 
Paradiso;  nor  was  his  pure  gold  wanting,  for,  compan- 
ioning the  periwinkles,  and  shaking  their  little  trumpets 
valiantly  in  the  breeze,  were  masses  of  pale  yellow  cow- 
slips that  had  sprung  up  with  them  in  the  misleading 
warmth  of  April's  earlier  days. 

We  too  had  been  misled,  and  had,  as  we  thought, 
taken  advantage  of  the  sudden  warm  weather  to  go 
and  hunt  for  summer  quarters  on  the  shores  of  the 
Attersee,  a  spot  that  I  particularly  wished  to  see.  Also 
I  wanted  to  get  away  from  town  for  a  few  days,  having 
just  heard  of  the  death  of  my  dear  Aunt  Jennie  Camp- 
bell, my  father's  only  sister.  In  any  sorrow  one  always 
wants  to  get  away  to  nature,  I  think,  so  true  is  that 
which  an  American  woman  wrote,  "  Who  toucheth  this 
garment's  hem  shall  be  healed."  So  we  blew  into  the 
"  Siidbahn  "  late  one  night,  much  to  the  mystification  of 
the  railway  officials,  who,  adjured  by  our  faithful  old 
Wicks  to  take  extra  care  of  us  and  on  no  account  to 
allow  us  to  be  disturbed,  took  us  for  a  distinguished 
runaway  couple  —  "  Dass  sind  grosse  Stiicke,"  I  heard 
the  station  master  whisper  to  the  guard,  —  and  locked  us 
in  with  every  mark  of  sympathetic  interest  and  respect. 

The  night  grew  colder  and  colder,  and  when  we 
reached  Gmunden  towards  seven  o'clock  the  next  morn- 

27 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

ing,  it  was  to  find  ourselves  set  back  into  the  winter  once 
more.  Coming  in  haste  to  the  hotel  we  were  dismayed 
to  see  that  it  was  closed,  and  when  at  last  we  roused  the 
proprietor,  who  looked  as  dazed  and  unkempt  as  a  bear 
cheated  of  some  of  its  winter  sleep,  he  told  us  that  he 
never  expected  any  guests  till  June  and  was  not  at  all 
sure  that  he  could  even  give  us  breakfast. 

However,  he  did  produce  that  desired  meal,  and  very 
much  we  enjoyed  it  in  the  vast,  empty  dining-room  where 
a  hastily  built  fire  was  roaring  within,  and  outside, 
through  the  great  French  windows,  one  could  see  the 
beautiful  lake,  just  ruffled  by  the  morning  breeze  and 
bordered  with  that  unique  philactery  of  flowers  and  snow. 
A  queer  two-horse  "shay"  was  found  somewhere,  and 
by  ten  o'clock  we  had  started  off  on  our  voyage  of  dis- 
covery round  the  Attersee.  The  little  horses  scrambled 
along  gaily,  the  driver  chattering  all  the  time,  plying 
us  with  questions  as  to  where  we  came  from  and  what 
on  earth  had  brought  us  into  the  mountains  at  such  a 
time  of  year.  His  frank  comments  on  our  recklessness 
made  me  forget  to  look  out  for  the  stone  that  should 
have  marked  the  frontier,  and  long  before  I  realised  it 
we  had  passed  into  Bavaria  —  and  Hugh  had  committed 
a  serious  breach  of  discipline  in  leaving  Austria  with- 
out special  permission  from  his  Chief. 

The  escape  lasted  only  a  few  hours  and  the  Ambas- 
sador never  knew  anything  about  it,  but  it  gave  us  a 
pleasant  sense  of  runaway  freedom,  and,  later,  the  chance 
of  comparing  the  excellent  roads  on  the  Bavarian  side 
with  the  little-travelled   and  quite   elementary  trails   on 

28 


IN    AND   OUT    OF    BAVARIA 

the  Austrian  shores  of  the  lake.  True,  bright  little 
Bavaria  had  the  softer  country  —  longer  reaches  of 
meadow  and  pine  wood  between  the  water  and  the  peaks 
—  more  sun  and  easier  conditions  generally,  besides, 
as  far  as  I  was  concerned,  some  afterglow  of  fun  and 
happiness  connected  with  baby  memories  of  my  dear 
father  and  our  travels  with  him,  which  I  have  described 
in  a  foregoing  volume. 

Bavaria  has  always  struck  me  as  especially  German  — 
echt  Deutsch  —  in  the  bunch  of  characteristics  which  go 
to  make  up  the  German  idea.  A  foundation  of  the 
sanest  good  sense,  a  frank  enjoyment  of  all  the  good 
things  of  life,  comfort,  sociability,  home-loving  women, 
big  jolly  men  mellowed  by  perennial  draughts  of  the 
best  beer  in  the  world,  and,  side  by  side  with  all  this, 
the  ever-living  romance  that  fills  wood  and  stream  and 
enchanted  castle  with  fairy  presences  as  delicate  and 
persistent  as  the  fall  of  the  dew,  that  bestows  the  love 
of  beauty  and  the  gift  of  art,  that  breaks  out  in  shock- 
ing tragedies  in  high  places  and  makes  idyls  in  humble 
ones.  "So  geht's  bei  uns!"  That  explains  the  phe- 
nomenon for  the  Bavarian  mind;  but  the  world's  pilgrim 
tries  to  think  out  the  sequence,  and  arrives  at  the  con- 
clusion that  a  certain  fundamental  simplicity  and  gaiety 
of  heart  combined  with  appealing  scenery,  a  kindly  cli- 
mate and  a  bounteous  soil,  produce  the  organisation  best 
fitted  to  understand  and  love  the  really  beautiful,  whether 
visible  or  spiritual. 

We  were  still  out  of  Austria  when,  far  down  on  the 
western   side   of   the   lake,   our   driver   calmly  informed 

29 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

us  that  the  road  went  no  further.  "  Da  fahrt  man  nett!  " 
he  added,  waving  an  arm  towards  the  wall  of  the 
Drachenberg  to  which  we  were  already  so  near  that  I 
could  endorse  the  truth  of  the  statement.  The  great 
crag  rose  from  the  water  in  one  sheer  wall  of  granite 
where  a  bird  could  scarce  find  place  to  perch.  Seeing 
our  disappointment,  the  driver  suggested  that  we  had 
better  go  and  get  something  to  eat  at  the  little  brown 
inn  which  marked  the  terminus  of  all  transport  in  this 
direction,  and  at  that  moment  the  host  appeared  at  his 
doorway  and  entreated  us  to  enter,  which  we  did,  in 
rather  a  bad  temper,  I  fear,  for  we  had  set  our  hearts 
on  exploring  the  further  shore  and  had  started  on  this 
side  only  to  have  a  look  at  the  scenery.  My  annoyance, 
however,  was  very  soon  forgotten  in  listening  to  our 
host's  account  of  what  the  Attersee  could  be  in  winter. 
Once  within  his  memory,  he  told  us,  the  entire  lake  had 
been  frozen  over,  so  that  people  skated  across  from  one 
side  to  the  other,  and  so  terrible  had  that  winter  been 
that  the  very  bears  came  down  from  the  mountains  and 
could  be  seen  prowling  round  on  the  ice  in  the  moon- 
light. For  the  sake  of  the  picture  thus  called  up  I  tried 
to  believe  him,  and  decided  that  the  bears  of  that  re- 
gion must  have  differed  very  much  from  those  of  the 
work-a-day  world,  who  are  wise  enough  to  sleep  the 
long  dark  months  away.  It  was  this  same  garrulous 
innkeeper  who  decided  our  fate  for  that  summer,  for 
had  he  not  offered  us  a  ferry  for  ourselves  and  our  con- 
veyance I  am  sure  we  should  have  returned  to  Gmunden 
in  disgust  and  taken  the  first  train  back  to  Vienna.     I 

30 


IN    AND   OUT   OF   BAVARIA 

had  no  taste  for  remote  fastnesses  in  those  days,  but 
when  a  huge  ferry  came  up  to  the  landing-place,  and 
we  found  ourselves,  still  in  the  carriage,  being  rowed 
across  to  Weissenbach,  where,  we  were  told,  the  mails 
arrived  regularly  by  a  little  steamer  that  made  the  tour 
of  the  lake  daily  in  summer,  I  felt  that  things  looked 
possible,  and  Weissenbach  itself,  even  under  that  rather 
wintry  aspect,  appealed  to  me  irresistibly. 

The  hotel,  a  double-storeyed  wooden  building  with 
broad  verandas  on  both  floors,  stood  a  little  way  back 
from  the  lake,  towards  which  the  land  sloped  gently  in 
a  wide  meadow,  just  softening  to  a  shimmer  of  green 
now  under  the  hot  sun  which  had  already  quite  melted 
last  night's  snow.  A  stream,  bordered  with  alders, 
rippled  down  to  empty  itself  in  the  lake,  and  the  woods, 
misty  with  new  greenery,  crept  up  as  near  as  they  dared 
and  made  a  fairy  background  all  around.  The  woods 
thickened  to  forest  in  the  near  distance,  and,  as  far  as 
the  eye  could  see,  the  sombre  pines  clothed  the  ever- 
mounting  hills  with  their  unchanging  mantle.  Through 
them,  we  were  told,  lay  the  road  to  Ischl,  and  we  at 
once  decided  to  go  home  that  way  instead  of  returning 
by  Gmunden.  First,  however,  the  object  of  our  journey 
had  to  be  accomplished,  and  we  finally  took  rooms  in 
a  huge  old  stone  farmhouse  which  was  used  as  a  depend- 
ance  of  the  hotel  and  stood  a  stone's  throw  from  it  on 
the  very  border  of  the  woods.  Its  comparative  privacy 
was  attractive  and  would  give  our  turbulent  small  boys 
more  liberty  than  they  could  enjoy  in  a  house  crowded 
with  summer  visitors,  as  the  other  place  was  sure  to  be. 

31 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

That  point  settled,  we  lunched  hurriedly  off  the  in- 
evitable "  Kalbsschnitzel  "  on  the  upper  veranda  of  the 
hotel,  consoled  for  a  scrappy  meal  by  looking  at  the 
splendid  panorama  of  lake  and  peak  spread  out  before  us. 
Then  fresh  horses  were  found  for  our  vehicle  and  we 
started  on  the  fifteen-mile  drive  through  the  mountains 
to  Ischl,  a  most  delightful  experience.  Driving  is,  of 
all  modes  of  travelling,  the  one  that  suits  me  best,  and 
when  it  is  my  luck  to  travel  through  forests  I  come  out 
soothed  and  good  tempered  and  in  the  happiest  possible 
mood. 

One  of  the  great  charms  of  life  in  Vienna  lay  in  the 
fact  that  a  train  journey  of  a  few  minutes'  duration,  or 
even  an  easy  drive,  brought  one  right  out  to  one  of  the 
charming  villages  that  lie  in  the  heart  of  the  remains  of 
that  superb  "  Wiener  Wald  "  which  in  old  times  cov- 
ered all  this  part  of  the  country.  Our  favourite  haunt 
was  Dornbach,  whither  often  I  drove  with  my  little 
boys  on  Sunday  afternoons  and  where  we  used  to  romp 
and  explore  to  our  hearts'  content,  and  have  amazing 
picnics  in  fairy  dells,  so  green  and  sunny  and  delicately 
remote  that  it  was  easy  enough  for  me  to  spin  chapter 
after  chapter  of  the  unending  fairytale  for  which  they 
clamoured  whenever  they  and  I  could  be  together.  Ah, 
that  fairytale !  It  was  as  enthralling  to  me  as  to  them, 
and  it  carried  us  over  some  three  years  at  least,  embody- 
ing all  the  possible  and  impossible  experiences  of  two 
little  children  called  Harry  and  Lulu.  Then  one  night, 
to  our  amazement,  it  ended  itself  all  of  a  sudden;  the 
fiery  dwarf,  who  had  been  the  evil  genius  all  through, 

32 


IN    AND   OUT   OF   BAVARIA 

resolved  himself  Into  a  huge  flaming  plum-pudding  and 
was  instantly  gobbled  up  by  his  small  conquerors.  And 
then  began  the  immortal  history  of  "  Barbotz,  or  the 
Life  and  Times  of  Padre  Antonio,"  of  which  I  have 
written  elsewhere.^ 

My  dear  husband  enjoyed  the  fairy  stories  nearly  as 
much  as  the  children  did,  I  think,  and  sometimes  helped 
them  out  by  delightful  illustrations.  For  "  Barbotz  " 
he  made  a  little  theatre  and  painted  scenes,  and  we 
had  marionettes  for  all  the  characters,  and  the  wildest 
situations  were  represented  with  fine  dramatic  effect. 
"Barbotz"  was  a  Devonshire  product  —  the  last  fairy- 
tale of  childhood,  merging,  as  the  years  went  by,  into  the 
stream  of  stories  gay  and  sorrowful,  funny  and  tragic, 
that  we  three  have  told  each  other  and  sometimes  told  the 
world  too.  That  last  thought  was  yet  far  from  us  In 
the  Dornbach  woods;  still  further  —  since  the  outside 
world  was  left  on  the  other  side  of  the  mountains  — 
from  Weissenbach  and  the  Attersee. 

The  summer  of  1880  Hugh  and  I  had  spent  in  town, 
unwillingly  enough,  though  he  had  the  financial  con- 
solation of  being  Charge  d'Affaires.  Although  we 
should  have  liked  to  take  a  house  in  the  suburbs,  the 
expense  of  transferring  our  entire  establishment  thither 
was  not  to  be  thought  of,  for  a  curious  system  prevails 
in  that  part  of  the  world.  Small  houses  are  not  rented 
furnished,  and  moving  into  one  means  bringing  all  the 
beds  and  tables  and  pots  and  pans  "  mit."  I  remember 
Lady  Elliot's  forlorn  account  of  her  first  experience  in 

1  The  Brown  Ambassador,  Macmillan. 

33 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

that  way,  when  Sir  Henry  was  first  Secretary  at  Vienna 
and  their  son,  Francis,  now  a  senior  diplomatist  of  dis- 
tinction, was  an  infant  in  arms.  The  day  of  their  de- 
parture from  town  turned  out  a  pouring  wet  one  and  by 
the  time  the  load  of  furniture  arrived  at  its  destination 
everything  was  soaked  —  except  one  mattress,  which  had 
to  be  given  to  the,  just  then,  most  important  member  of 
the  family,  the  baby's  wet-nurse.  Everyone  else  slept 
on  the  floor  with  what  few  rags  could  be  dried  by  bed- 
time. The  nurse  was  of  course  a  Croatian,  so  exer- 
cised about  taking  care  of  her  beautiful  costume  and  the 
baby  that  nothing  beyond  that  would  surprise  or  affect  her. 
The  Croatian  women  seem  to  have  the  monopoly  of 
nursing  aristocratic  babies  in  Vienna.  Tall,  square- 
shouldered,  with  the  swing  of  the  mountains  in  their 
gait  and  the  tang  of  freedom  in  their  speech,  they  are 
picturesque  enough  to  be  painted,  though  I  never  heard 
of  any  artist  who  had  used  them  as  models.  Their  cos- 
tume is  quaint  to  the  last  degree,  consisting  of  an  em- 
broidered sleeveless  jacket,  open  at  the  neck,  worn  over 
a  laced  "  camisole  "  which  has  the  shortest  possible 
puffed  sleeves  displaying  arms  of  admirable  shape  and 
firmness.  The  white  or  pale  blue  skirt  is  enormously 
full  and  reaches  hardly  to  the  knees;  in  summer,  brilliant 
orange-coloured  stockings  end  in  slippers  with  silver 
buckles,  but  in  winter  the  wise  Croatian  woman  draws 
on  great  cavalry  top-boots  which  look  strangely  incon- 
gruous below  the  fly-away,  opera-comique  skirt.  What 
a  curious  collection  the  costumes  of  nurses  would  make, 
from  Ayah  in  her  gauze  wrappings  to  Balia  in  clinging 

34 


IN    AND   OUT   OF   BAVARIA 

scarlet  cloth  and  gold  lace  —  and  Norman  "  Nou-nou  " 
in  full  cloak  and  streaming  cap  ribbons! 

As  I  have  said,  Hugh  and  I  spent  the  summer  in  town, 
but  our  two  small  boys  we  sent  off  with  their  nurses 
to  the  Kahlenberg,  a  few  hours'  journey  from  the  capi- 
tal, where  they  could  play  to  their  hearts'  content  among 
the  great  woods.  Once  every  now  and  again,  I  would 
go  up  there  for  the  day  to  satisfy  myself  that  all  was 
well  with  them;  on  which  occasions  I  used  to  make  a 
practice  of  walking  from  our  apartment  in  the  Karnt- 
ner  Ring  to  the  station,  thereby  arousing  in  myself 
fresh  sentiments  of  irritation  against  the  petty  hardships 
of  a  life  in  diplomacy  upon  limited  means.  And  yet 
those  walks  were  not  without  compensation.  Had  I 
been  engaged  in  the  writing  of  books  in  those  dim  days, 
I  might  even  have  considered  such  small  economies  as  the 
want  of  a  conveyance  a  direct  intervention  of  Providence 
in  my  affairs.  For  it  was  upon  one  such  walk  to  the 
station  —  I  had  chanced  to  thread  my  way,  of  a  July 
morning,  through  the  "  Prater  "  —  that  I  first  encoun- 
tered her  who  was  known  in  Vienna  by  no  other  name 
than  that  of  "  die  maskirte  Dame,"  "  the  masked  lady." 
If  ever  there  were  a  fitting  subject  for  a  romance,  surely 
"  die  maskirte  Dame  "  supplied  it! 

Never  shall  I  forget  the  impression  made  upon  me  by 
the  encounter  with  that  strange  and  sinister  personality, 
there  in  the  full  glare  of  a  summer's  noontide  in  the 
radiant  Prater,  itself  ablaze  with  flowers  and  almost 
deserted  at  that  hour  of  the  day — as  is  so  often  the 
case  with  the  parks  of  many  great  cities. 

3S 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

The  very  suddenness  of  the  apparition,  too,  had  in  it 
something  peculiarly  disquieting.  I  was  walking  quickly 
along,  eyes  on  the  ground,  when,  suddenly,  the  clinking 
of  a  horse's  bit  made  me  look  up,  to  see,  on  the  tan-path 
on  the  further  side  of  the  roadway,  a  woman  riding 
towards  me  at  a  walk;  she  was  looking  straight  before 
her  and  her  face  —  for  such  I  took  it  to  be  at  first  sight 
—  was  such  as  one  sees  only  in  one's  dreams.  It  was  like 
the  face  of  a  corpse,  a  waxen  yellow,  with  very  bright 
red  lips  fixed  in  an  immovable  smile;  the  eyes,  though, 
brown  and  small,  like  buttons,  were  full  of  a  restless- 
ness that  was  dreadful  to  see,  set  as  they  were  in  that 
dead  face.  As  we  drew  nearer  one  another,  the  "  mas- 
kirte  Dame  "  turned  her  head  in  my  direction  and,  for  a 
second,  our  eyes  met.  Let  me  say  at  once,  by  the  way, 
that  my  first  actual  impression  had  been  that  I  was  not 
looking  upon  a  woman  at  all,  but  upon  some  super- 
natural thing.  It  was  not  until  she  had  put  her  horse  — 
a  beauty  —  into  a  canter  and  was  some  distance  away 
from  me  that  I  remembered  what  I  had  heard  of  such 
a  mysterious  person.     She  was  said  to  be  the  wife  of  a 

certain  Baron  ,   and  the  victim  of  some   frightful 

accident  which  had  disfigured  her  beyond  all  possibility 
of  her  ever  again  letting  her  face  be  seen  by  mortal  eyes. 
Her  practice  was  to  ride  for  hours  at  a  time  in  the  Prater, 
or,  in  bad  weather,  in  the  great  riding-school  where,  as 
I  have  heard,  she  would  not  infrequently  tire  out  three, 
or  even  four  horses  in  succession. 

The  next  year,  however,  we  were  lucky  enough  to  be 
able  to  leave  Vienna  in  a  body,  early  in  June;   our  choice 

36 


IN    AND    OUT   OF    BAVARIA 

of  a  place  in  the  country,  where,  without  being  too  far 
from  the  capital,  we  could  yet  be  sure  of  a  really  com- 
fortable summer  at  moderate  cost,  had  fallen  upon  the 
hamlet  of  Weissenbach,  on  the  Attersee,  whither,  as  I 
have  related,  Hugh  and  I  had  travelled  to  find  quarters 
early  in  the  spring.  Although  this  part  of  the  vast  Aus- 
trian mountain  districts  has  long  been  a  favourite  resort 
of  the  Imperial  family,  yet,  speaking  for  myself,  it  has 
always  struck  me  as  infinitely  less  inviting  than  Tyrol. 
The  people  seem  less  prosperous,  altogether,  than  the 
Tyrolese,  whilst  the  mountains,  themselves,  of  course  can- 
not be  compared  with  those,  for  instance,  round  Meran 
or  Brixen,  All  the  same  they  have,  it  must  be  ad- 
mitted, one  singular  and  supremely  delightful  feature  of 
their  own  —  by  which  I  refer  to  their  extraordinary 
richness  in  the  sweetest  of  flowers,  the  lily  of  the  valley. 
All  through  the  summer  months  the  whole  country  about 
Weissenbach  was  redolent  of  its  perfume;  after  rain, 
especially,  the  air  was  heavy  with  the  acrid  fragrance  of 
the  knee-high  lilies  with  which  the  woods  were  literally 
carpeted.  Our  quarters  in  the  old  farmhouse  proved 
roomy  and  cool;  the  meadow  that  divided  us  from  the 
lake  was  a  perfect  garden  of  wild  flowers,  and  out  of  it, 
I  remember,  there  crept,  every  afternoon,  a  tame  black 
snake  who  used  to  wait  under  my  window  for  a  drink  of 
milk!  As  soon  as  he  had  had  it  he  slipped  away  again 
towards  the  lake,  in  the  water  of  which  was  reflected  a 
gigantic  crucifix  that  reared  its  height  on  the  southern 
shore.  For  a  day-nursery  the  children  had  the  use  of  a 
cherry-orchard  by  the  house,  albeit  on  Sundays,  they  had 

37 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

to  make  way  for  the  local  "  Schutzverein  "  or  rifle  club 
which  had  no  other  range  than  this  same  orchard,  where, 
for  hours  together,  with  the  parish  priest  acting  as 
judge,  the  assembled  gamekeepers  and  chamois-hunters 
exercised  their  skill  upon  a  target  fastened  to  a  tree. 
Their  weapons  were  still  almost  all  old-fashioned 
muzzle-loaders,  but  their  marksmanship  was  certainly 
worthy  of  a  better  weapon.  In  watching  them  and 
noting  the  marvellous  accuracy  of  their  practice  one 
could  understand  why,  in  all  Austrian  campaigns  of 
recent  history,  the  mountain-regiments  have  always  had 
assigned  to  them  the  most  difficult  posts  —  notably,  at 
Solferino  and  Sadowa, — where  their  French  and  Prussian 
adversaries  had  such  fearful  cause  to  remember  them. 

The  lake  at  Weissenbach  was  one  of  the  deepest  in 
Europe  if  not  in  the  world;  and,  like  all  lakes,  of  course, 
deeper  at  its  southern  than  at  its  northern  end.  Here, 
at  the  northern  end,  on  Bavarian  territory,  was  a  coun- 
try-house belonging  to  Duke  Karl  Theodore  —  Duke  in 
Bavaria  —  from  the  grounds  of  which  his  wife.  Princess 
Maria  Josefa  of  Portugal,  with  her  daughters,  used  to 
watch  the  little  lake  steamer  as  it  plied  on  its  way  to 
Weissenbach.  So  much  has  been  written  concerning 
the  Duke  and  his  wonderful  ability  as  an  oculist  that  I 
need  hardly  dwell  upon  that  side  of  his  character.  I 
met  him,  once  or  twice,  in  Vienna,  and  the  kindly  face 
with  its  much-wrinkled  brow  gave  me  the  impression 
rather  of  a  patient,  earnest  man  of  science  than  of  the 
very  capable  soldier  that  he  was.  It  seemed  impos- 
sible to  connect  the  one  with  the  other,  the  great  surgeon 

38 


IN    AND    OUT   OF   BAVARIA 

with  the  dashing  officer  of  Cuirassiers  of  1866  and  1870. 
And  yet  he  was  one  of  the  very  "  souls  "  of  the  Bavarian 
army.  I  cannot  imagine  that  any  member  of  it  can  have 
felt  more  keenly  than  he  the  late  "  Prussification  "  of 
certain  details  in  the  uniform.  But  the  most  remark- 
able member  of  his  family  is,  of  course,  the  man  who 
took  so  prominent  a  part  in  the  creation  of  the  German 
Empire  as  it  is  to-day,  the  Prince  Regent  Luitpold,  now 
in  his  ninety-first  year.  I  always  think  of  Prince  Luit- 
pold, in  company  with  his  junior,  the  venerable  Emperor 
Francis  Joseph,  as  an  example  of  an  utterly  unselfish 
man  of  duty.  In  the  early  eighties.  Prince  Luitpold 
was  still  comparatively  young  for  such  a  man  as  he;  his 
sixty-odd  years  appeared  little  more  than  early  middle 
life,  his  youth  and  keenness  in  sport  and  business  being 
still  more  than  equal  to  those  of  many  of  his  juniors. 
And  yet  his  severest  trials  were  to  come;  although  his 
nephew.  Prince  Otto,  the  younger  brother  of  King  Louis 
of  Bavaria,  had  already  been  confined  as  a  madman  for 
some  years,  yet  the  King  himself  was  still  sufficiently 
sane  to  be  capable  of  acting  as  a  figurehead  of  the  Gov- 
ernment. Not  until  1886  did  King  Louis'  reason  break 
down  so  completely  as  to  necessitate  his  uncle's  officially 
assuming  the  reins  of  administration  as  Prince  Regent, 
albeit  for  many  years  he  had,  in  reality,  been  directing 
the  destinies  of  the  kingdom. 

In  those  days  of  eighty-one  there  was  a  good  deal  of 
gossip  going  on  in  Vienna  in  regard  to  the  Bavarian 
situation  which,  in  view  of  the  relationship  of  the  Em- 
press Elizabeth  to   King  Louis  —  in  whose  sanity  she 

39 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

was  always  a  firm  believer  —  was  rather  a  delicate  ques- 
tion. Some  people  there  were  who  averred  that  the 
King's  mental  condition  was  being  "  exploited  "  to  the 
utmost  by  Prince  Luitpold  for  his  own  personal  advan- 
tage, so  as  to  clear  the  way  for  himself  to  the  throne; 
others,  again,  declared  that  the  unfortunate  monarch  had 
only  been  allowed  to  retain  his  crown  so  long,  in  the 
interests  of  the  Bavarian  "  Power  behind  the  throne  " 
who  had  thus  been  enabled  to  work  his  will  without  in- 
curring the  odium  of  "  a  coup  d'etat."  At  the  same  time 
it  was  well  known  that  already,  in  1875,  there  had  been 
considerable  talk  of  King  Louis'  deposition  from  sover- 
eignty, in  favour  of  his  younger  brother,  Otto;  and, 
doubtless,  this  would  have  been  carried  into  effect  but 
for  Prince  Otto's  own  insanity,  which  compelled  his  being 
placed  under  restraint  in  the  course  of  the  next  year. 

How  far  rumour  was  correct  in  ascribing  the  origin 
of  the  mental  troubles  of  both  the  royal  brothers  to  un- 
fortunate love  affairs  one  hesitates  to  say.  In  the  King's 
case  I  can  hardly  believe  it,  seeing  that  for  so  many 
years  prior  to  his  abdication  in  1886,  he  had  been  noto- 
riously of  unsound  mind.  His  trait  of  hereditary  insan- 
ity seems  to  have  found  its  first  development  far  back 
in  the  sixties,  when  his  naturally  morose  and  fantastic 
nature  abandoned  itself  to  megalomania  in  the  way  of 
building  fairy-palaces  for  himself;  also  his  friendship 
with  Wagner  would  appear  to  have  gone  far  towards 
completing  the  destruction  of  his  feeble  mind,  the  result 
of  his  intimacy  with  the  great  troubadour  being  the  com- 
plete  dominion    acquired   over   his   imagination   by   the 

40 


IN    AND   OUT   OF    BAVARIA 

composer-poet's  ravings  about  Siegfried,  Brunhilde,  and 
the  other  great  shadowy  figures  of  Scandinavian  legend. 
To  such  an  extent,  indeed,  had  Wagner  demoralised  his 
royal  patron,  even  so  early  as  1866,  that  the  latter, 
instead  of  accompanying  his  army  into  Bohemia,  re- 
mained in  safety  at  Stahrenberg,  occupied  in  reading 
his  own  poetry  to  a  chosen  audience  of  admirers;  a 
few  days  later,  the  news  of  the  defeat  at  Sadowa  found 
him  at  Hohenschwangau,  playing  "  Tristan  "  in  a  suit 
of  yellow  and  apricot-coloured  tights.  To  these  follies 
succeeded  a  period  of  suspicion  and  terror  of  all  about 
him;  he  became  beset  with  a  mania  for  hiding  and  secret- 
iveness.  In  the  daytime  he  took  to  concealing  him- 
self, even  from  the  eyes  of  the  servants,  behind  closed 
doors  and  alone  with  his  imaginary  loves,  Brunhilde  and 
Isolda;  but  his  particular  "flame"  seems  to  have  been 
poor  Marie  Antoinette,  the  wife  of  Louis  XVI.  Of 
her  he  kept  a  bust  by  him  where  his  eyes  could  see  it 
on  awakening  every  morning;  he  even  went  to  the 
length  of  styling  her  "  my  disembodied  paramour." 

At  the  same  time  he  had  a  tyrannical  side  to  him, 
as  shown  by  his  treatment  of  his  brother  Otto  in  1869, 
when  he  separated  him  by  force  from  the  young  girl,  a 
countess,  to  whom  Otto  had  given  his  heart.  All  that 
the  lovers  had  been  guilty  of  consisted  in  having,  at  a 
picnic  by  the  Tegernsee,  wandered  off  by  themselves  for 
the  afternoon  to  pick  strawberries;  but  it  was  enough 
to  make  King  Louis  ruin  both  their  lives  by  keeping  them 
apart  for  ever.  No  one  dreamed,  however,  of  the  effect 
upon  Prince  Otto's  mind  until  the  following  year,  when 

41 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

old  King  William  of  Prussia  caught  him  ordering  his 
regiment  to  charge  a  stone  wall! 

To-day,  by  all  accounts,  King  Otto  (as  he  has  been 
ever  since  his  brother's  tragic  death  at  Stahrenberg,  in 
1886)  is  as  mad  as  ever;  his  days  appear  to  be  passed 
mainly  in  the  consumption  of  innumerable  cigarettes,  and 
in  shooting,  from  the  windows  of  his  enforced  retreat, 
at  the  passing  peasants  —  his  weapon  being  loaded  for 
him  with  blank  cartridge  so  that  he  can  enjoy  himself 
without  hurting  his  subjects.  Many  of  these  latter,  by 
the  way,  especially  those  of  the  mountain  districts  about 
the  late  King's  fairy  castles  of  Neuschwanstein  and 
Hohenschwangau,  still  cling  persistently  to  the  belief  that 
poor  King  Louis  was  put  to  death  by  his  enemies  —  than 
which  a  more  stupid  and  utterly  unfounded  calumny  could 
hardly  exist.  By  the  way,  I  have  often  wondered  how 
much  truth,  if  any,  there  may  have  been  in  the  rumour 
that  at  about  the  time  of  his  death.  King  Louis  was  en- 
gaged in  planning  the  kidnapping  of  the  then  Prince 
of  Naples  with  the  help  of  a  number  of  Bavarian  game- 
keepers and  forest-rangers;  according  to  these  rumours 
his  Intention  would  have  been  to  keep  the  son  of  King 
Humbert  a  close  prisoner  in  some  castle  of  the  Ba- 
varian Highlands  until  the  boy's  father  should  have 
consented  to  the  restoration  of  the  Papal  Dominions  to 
Pope  Leo  XIII.  Such  an  idea,  if  indeed  he  really  en- 
tertained it,  speaks  eloquently  of  King  Louis'  mental 
condition ! 

To  return,  however,  to  that  summer  of  eighty-one 
at  Weissenbach.     We  were   not  the   only  diplomatists 

42 


IN    AND   OUT   OF    BAVARIA 

there,  Count  Zuylen,  the  Dutch  minister,  having  also 
taken  up  his  abode  in  the  neighbourhood  for  the  holidays. 
With  him  were  his  son  and  the  two  charming  daughters 
known  amongst  English  in  Vienna  as  the  "  Dutchesses," 
a  play  of  words  on  their  nationality.  Amongst  other 
visitors,  too,  was  Princess  Batthyany,  who  had  ,been 
among  the  kindest  of  the  Viennese  to  me  during  the  past 
winter.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  of  course,  she  was  only 
Viennese  "  by  residence,"  being  in  other  ways  Hun- 
garian. Her  husband,  Edmond  Batthyany,  was  at  the 
Austrian  embassy  in  London;  a  kinsman  of  his  was  the 
Prince  Louis  who  was  implicated  in  the  Hungarian 
troubles  of  1848  and  came  to  an  untimely  end  under 
Baron  Haynau's  administration  of  that  misguided  coun- 
try. According  to  tradition,  it  was  some  woman  of  the 
unfortunate  Prince  Louis'  family  who  uttered  the  mem- 
orable curse  upon  the  head  of  the  Emperor  Francis 
Joseph  —  although  I  question  the  truth  of  the  story. 

The  Batthyanys  were  particularly  interesting  to  me  in 
view  of  their  being  such  typical  examples  of  those  fabled 
Hungarian  magnates  of  whom  I  had  heard  so  much  and 
seen  so  little  prior  to  my  stay  in  Austria.  Princess 
Batthyany  herself,  although  not  by  birth  quite  the  equal 
of  her  husband,  nevertheless  always  impressed  me 
greatly  as  a  person  far  removed  in  every  way  from  the 
everyday  world  of  modern  politics  and  affairs.  As  a 
little  girl  she  had  passed  through  that  dreadful  time  of 
1 848-1 849  in  Hungar}%  her  father's  home  being  at 
Rechnitz  in  the  *'  Comital "  of  Eisenberg.  But  the 
subject  of   1849  was  naturally  a  forbidden  one  In  her 

43 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

presence  on  account  of  its  very  painful  associations 
with  the  family  of  her  husband.  Indeed,  it  was  so 
with  almost  all  the  Hungarians  of  one's  acquain- 
tance; scarcely  a  single  house  of  eminence  but  had 
contributed  in  some  way  or  another  to  the  tragedy 
of  that  year.  One  of  the  very  few  participators  in  the 
rebellion  to  escape  scathless  was  old  Count  Andrassy, 
who  was  destined,  in  after  days,  to  become  so  eminent  a 
public  servant  of  the  empire.  It  was  to  Andrassy  that 
the  Emperor  Francis  Joseph,  in  1878,  made  the  delight- 
fully naive  remark,  "  Ah,  my  dear  Andrassy,  I  am  in- 
deed glad  that  I  did  not  hang  you  in  forty-nine!  "  Had 
Andrassy,  however,  been  of  the  number  of  those  who 
fell  into  Baron  Haynau's  hands,  after  Arthur  Goergey's 
surrender  at  Vilagos  in  the  August  of  1849,  he  would, 
doubtless,  have  fared  very  differently.  The  temper  of 
the  Austrian  commander  had  been  deeply  stirred,  only 
some  few  months  earlier,  by  the  revolt  of  the  Italians 
in  Brescia  and  the  loss  of  his  great  personal  friend, 
Count  Nugent,  who  was  mortally  wounded  in  the  assault 
on  the  town. 

Speaking  of  Haynau,  it  is  a  strange  thing  that  he 
should  be  so  universally  held  up  to  public  detestation 
by  historians,  on  a  charge  of  doing  exactly  the  same 
things,  in  the  course  of  his  disagreeable  duty,  that  the 
military  leaders  of  the  countries  to  which  those  same 
historians  belong  have  never  shrunk  from  doing  under 
the  same  circumstances.  The  merest  love  of  "  fair 
play  "  compels  one  to  ask  what  difference  there  is,  for 
instance,  between  Haynau's  severities  in  Hungary  and 

44 


IN    AND    OUT   OF    BAVARIA 

those  of  the  French  Government  during  and  after  the 
Coup  d'etat  of  1 85 1?  Of  the  Russians  towards  the 
Poles  in  1863?  Of  the  Enghsh  in  their  suppression  of 
the  Indian  Mutiny?  Of  the  Americans  in  the  Philip- 
pines? The  Austrlans  were  not  guilty  either  of  per- 
petrating the  infamous  "  water-cure,"  or  of  ordering 
the  massacre  of  all  males  over  the  age  of  ten  years,  as 
was  ordered  by  an  American  general  in  regard  to  the 
population  of  the  island  of  Samar  in  the  year  of  grace 
1901  or  thereabouts.  We  are  all  human  and  therefore 
have,  all  of  us,  both  as  individuals  and  nations,  our  faults; 
but  let  us  remove  the  beam  from  our  own  eye  before 
we  attempt  to  remove  the  mote  from  that  of  our  brother. 
Of  the  cases  I  have  suggested  for  comparison  that  of  the 
English  in  India  is  the  only  one  that  can  plead  justifica- 
tion, in  the  fact  of  the  horrors  (that  called  for  punish- 
ment in  kind)  perpetrated  by  Asiatics  incapable  of 
understanding  the  ordinary  generosity  of  their  rulers. 

As  to  Baron  Haynau,  none  of  those  who  had  known 
and  served  under  him  considered  him  entirely  sane;  his 
circumstances,  all  through  life,  were  anything  but  cal- 
culated to  make  of  him  an  impartial  judge  either  of 
rebels  or  of  the  Influences  of  which  they  might  have 
been  the  victims.  All  his  life  long  the  man  chafed 
under  the  fate  that  had  caused  him  to  be  born  into 
the  world  the  natural  son  of  a  sovereign;  never,  in 
his  dealings  with  other  men,  could  Julius  Jakob  von 
Haynau  quite  throw  off  the  thought  of  what  should 
have  been  due  from  them  to  himself  had  things  been 
but  a  little  different  at  his  birth.     With  him  the  Divine 

45 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

Right  of  Kings  was,  as  it  were,  a  royal  outcast  in  his 
own  person;  and  it  was  this  sense  of  an  outraged  roy- 
alty in  himself  that  goaded  him  into  a  bitterness 
which  found  its  vent  and  expression  in  a  fierce  hatred  of 
rebellion  in  any  form.  In  mind  and  heart  he  suffered 
constantly;  granted  that  he  was  of  a  morbid  constitu- 
tion, mentally,  yet  his  unhappiness  was  none  the  less 
real  on  that  account.  There  is  a  sketch  of  him,  made 
on  a  Danube  steamer,  in  1851,  a  year  before  his  death, 
which  haunts  one's  memory  —  the  drawing  is  that  of  a 
grimly  decrepit  figure  leaning  upon  a  heavy  walking- 
stick  and  dressed  in  baggy,  civilian  clothes  that  hang 
loosely  on  the  attenuated  frame.  From  beneath  one  of 
the  hideous,  peaked  caps  then  in  fashion  for  travellers, 
the  face  of  the  man  looks  out  with  a  sardonic  stoicism 
upon  the  world  that  he  despised  for  its  fear  of  him. 
There  is  contempt  in  every  line  of  that  haggard,  sick 
face  with  its  extraordinary  moustaches  that  fall  in  prodi- 
gious length  from  beneath  the  hooked  nose  down  on 
to  the  shrunken  chest.  A  mortally-stricken  beast  of  prey, 
one  would  say,  reduced  by  age  and  illness  to  brooding 
in  its  lair;  a  dying  wolf  to  which  its  enemies  dare  not 
come  too  close  until  the  last  spark  of  its  ferocious  energy 
shall  have  left  it.  That  he  had  courage  none  may 
deny,  seeing  how,  alone,  save  for  one  companion,  he 
faced  the  mob  of  Barclay  and  Perkins'  enraged  em- 
ployes when  they  set  upon  him  during  his  visit  to  Lon- 
don in  1850;  it  was  only  as  by  a  miracle  that  he 
escaped  from  them  at  all. 

Moreover,  if  retribution  were  necessary  for  his  deeds 

46 


IN   AND   OUT   OF   BAVARIA 

in  Italy  and  Hungary,  it  was  certainly  imposed  upon 
Haynau;  during  all  the  last  years  of  his  life  he  was 
completely  shunned  by  his  fellow-men.  Some  one  who 
witnessed  an  instance  of  this  used  to  tell  how,  once, 
In  travelling,  Haynau  was  recognised  In  the  dining- 
room  of  an  hotel  in  Austria,  and  that,  instantly,  an  un- 
mistakable manifestation  of  disapproval  of  his  presence 
on  the  part  of  the  company  compelled  his  withdrawal. 
But  perhaps  the  most  signal  proof  of  how  he  was  re- 
garded among  the  men  best  able  to  judge  him,  his  fellow- 
officers  of  the  Austrian  army,  was  furnished  by  the 
fact  that  Count  Nugent,  dying  of  his  wounds  received 
in  the  storming  of  Brescia  —  upon  the  inhabitants  of 
which  Haynau  had  inflicted  such  severities  for  their 
revolt  —  bequeathed  the  greater  part  of  his  private  for- 
tune, if  not,  indeed,  the  whole  of  it,  to  the  town,  by 
way  of  reparation  for  his  superior  officer  s  harshness. 
Also,  Benedek,  whose  knighthood  was  never  sullied  by 
stain  of  any  kind,  refused  an  advantageous  offer  of  staff 
employment  under  Haynau  when  the  latter  was  after- 
wards sent  to  Hungary  —  albeit  in  so  doing  he  sacrificed 
certain  promotion  and  a  substantial  increase  in  pay. 

To  return  to  the  point  from  which  I  started  on  this 
long  digression  —  the  mountain  districts  about  Weissen- 
bach were,  as  I  have  said,  very  different  in  some  ways 
from  Tyrol  where,  some  years  later,  I  was  destined  to 
spend  a  good  deal  of  time.  There  was  nothing  of  the 
same  permanent  country  society  at  Weissenbach  as  there 
was  in  the  neighbourhood  either  of  Meran  or  Brixen. 
Nor  were  the  actual  features  of  the  landscape  nearly 

47 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

so  grand  as  the  southwesterly  highlands  of  Tyrol. 
Nevertheless,  there  were  occasional  compensations 
which  amply  atoned  for  any  normal  lack  of  the  pic- 
turesque; by  this  I  mean  the  amazing  storms  of  thunder 
and  lightning  peculiar  to  upper  Austria  with  its  natural 
lightning-conductors  of  bare,  limestone  heights  (for  the 
most  part  too  precipitous  for  snow),  and  its  great  sheets 
of  stagnant  water.  Indeed,  I  think  that  one  such  storm 
that  I  saw  there,  that  summer,  was  quite  the  most 
terrific  of  its  kind  that  I  can  remember.  Never,  until 
then,  had  I  beheld  lightning  that  seemed  to  roll  over  the 
ground  like  huge  globes  of  mercury;  nor  had  I  had, 
before,  the  experience  of  watching  what  appeared  to  be 
a  ball  of  fire  fall  from  an  inky  sky  into  the  middle  of 
an  equally  inky  lake  with  a  hissing  splash  that  was 
heard  a  mile  away  and  more.  By  the  way,  was  it  not 
the  late  Mr.  Du  Maurier  who  said  that  the  sense  of 
smell  was  the  most  powerful  of  all  aids  to  memory? 
Because,  if  so,  I  think  he  was  unquestionably  right; 
this,  by  the  way,  apropos  of  the  smell  of  rain  which, 
with  that  of  lilies  of  the  valley,  will  always  take  me  back 
to  Austria  and  its  mountains;  they  are  inseparably  con- 
nected, too,  in  my  mind  with  two  other  such  old  sweet 
smells,  those  of  cherry-wood  and  of  the  fresh-cut  hay 
as  it  lies  drying  in  the  sun  on  the  lower  pastures  before 
being  stacked  for  the  winter.  Aids  to  memory,  indeed, 
but  we  pay  for  them  too  dear;  they  tear  open  every 
wound  that  the  heart  has  suffered  —  and  forgotten  till 
some  such  unexpected  breath  of  perfume  sets  it  aching 
with  new  homesickness  for  a  home  that  exists  no  more. 

48 


Ill 

SOVEREIGNS,    TREATIES,    AND   TRADITIONS 

A  House  Divided  against  Itself  —  Croatia  and  Hungary  —  Wooden  Soldiers 
and  M.  de  Bonaparte's  "youngster" — Archduke  John  and  Tyrol  — 
"The  Old  Colours  Last  the  Best"  — Hapsburg  Eccentricities  —  An  In- 
convenient Member  of  the  Family  and  His  Mysterious  End  —  The  Em- 
peror's Reception  Day  —  The  Story  of  Murat  —  A  Headless  Corpse  — 
The  Fall  of  Metternich  —  Traditions  of  Diplomacy  —  "  Accidents  Will 
Happen  "  —  The  Afterward  of  a  Pitiful  Tragedy. 

ONE  of  the  strangest  peculiarities  of  the  Austrian 
Imperial  family  was  still,  in  1881,  the  division  of 
its  members  into  widely  differing  national  sympathies. 
As  the  empire  contains  some  twelve  or  fourteen  nation- 
alities of  varying  political  and  social  outlook  as  well 
as  of  differing  tongues,  this  peculiarity  was  in  itself 
of  no  small  importance  to  the  general  situation  of  the 
Austria-Hungarian  monarchy.  Of  the  sons  of  one 
father,  the  fate  of  the  eldest  might  have  placed  him  for 
life  in  the  midst  of  influences  more  or  less  distinctly 
Austrian  and  German,  whilst  his  younger  brothers  might 
be  equally  imbued  with  sentiments  as  strongly  Czech 
or  Magyar,  as  the  case  might  be.  Each  brother,  if  he 
married  and  had  sons,  bequeathed  his  personal  sym- 
pathies to  them,  so  that  they  sometimes  became  even 
more  Austrian  or  Hungarian  or  Bohemian  than  the 
natives  themselves. 

49 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

Archduke  Joseph,  whose  father  had  been  the  Palatine 
or  Viceroy  of  Hungary,  was  an  instance  of  this,  his 
half-brother,  Stephen,  having  succeeded  their  father  as 
Palatine  in  1847.  ^^  ^^^  Archduke  Stephen  who,  it  will 
be  remembered,  led  the  Hungarian  army  in  the  autumn 
of  the  following  year,  1848,  against  the  Croatians  who, 
under  the  leadership  of  Baron  Jellacic,  had  risen  in 
revolt  against  their  Magyar  oppressors;  the  latter,  who 
had  always  looked  upon  Croatia  as  an  appanage,  less  of 
the  Austrian  Crown  than  of  the  Hungarian,  had  re- 
fused to  extend  equal  political  rights  with  their  own  to  the 
Croatians,  despite  the  fact  that  they,  the  Hungarians 
themselves,  were  at  the  time  on  the  eve  of  an  armed 
struggle  with  Austria  for  equal  rights  with  Germans 
in  Hungary! 

It  is  quite  possible  that  Croatia  might  have  been 
compelled  by  Austria  to  submit  to  Hungary  on  con- 
dition of  Hungary's  abandoning  her  attitude  of 
independence  towards  Austria;  in  (fact,  it  looked  as 
though  Croatia  must  inevitably  be  thrown  as  a  sop  to 
Hungary.  And  then  suddenly  the  family  divisions  of  the 
House  of  Hapsburg  came  to  the  rescue  of  the  plucky 
southern  Slavs.  The  matter  would  seem  to  have  been 
settled  by  the  Archduchess  Sophie,  mother  of  the  present 
Emperor,  who  preferred  the  Croats  to  their  oppressors, 
the  factious  Hungarians.  She  herself,  moreover,  was 
personally  interested  in  the  Croatian  cause  by  reason  of 
her  friendship  for  the  Jellacic  family  whose  devotion 
to  the  Austrian  Imperial  house  was  well  known.  The 
result  was  the  nomination  of  Baron  Joseph  Jellacic  to 

50 


SOVEREIGNS,  TREATIES,  AND  TRADITIONS 

the  office  of  "  Banus,"  or  Governor  of  Croatia,  at  the 
instance  of  Archduchess  Sophie  and  her  partisans. 

At  the  same  time  Jellacic  was  empowered  to  attack 
and  overthrow  the  Hungarians  who  were  advancing 
against  Croatia  from  Budapesth  in  the  belief  that  the 
Court  party  entirely  acquiesced  in  the  crushing  of  the 
rebellious  "  Banus  "  and  his  compatriots.  Nor  did  the 
Palatine,  Archduke  Stephen,  so  much  as  even  suspect  the 
secret  support  given  to  Jellacic  from  the  Hofburg  until, 
as  the  two  armies  neared  each  other  by  Lake  Balaton, 
he  sent  a  message  over  into  the  Croatian  lines  with  a 
request  that  Jellacic  would  open  up  negotiations  in  order 
to  avoid  bloodshed.  In  answer  the  "  Banus  "  sent  back 
to  say  that,  "  Unless  the  Palatine  brings  me  an  as- 
surance and  a  guarantee  that  the  Hungarian  Government 
is  at  one  upon  all  points  with  that  of  Austria,  it  will 
be  of  no  use  to  attempt  any  negotiations  whatsoever." 
Perceiving  something  of  the  hidden  truth  behind  these 
words.  Archduke  Stephen  resigned  his  command  at  once 
and  withdrew  to  join  the  Imperial  family  at  Vienna. 
The  detested  subjection  to  Hungary  was  averted  for 
the  moment,  but  it  was  finally  forced  upon  Croatia  in 
i860. 

"  My "  Archduke  Joseph,  the  brother  of  Archduke 
Stephen,  was  the  nephew  of  two  of  Austria's  best  known 
and  most  popular  royalties,  the  Archdukes  Charles  — 
by  many  considered,  after  Prince  Eugene  and  Marshal 
Radetzky,  the  greatest  soldier  in  the  history  of  the  na- 
tion—  and  John  whose  life  was  spent  for  the  greater 
part  in  Tyrol,  a  typical,  simple  Tyroler,  at  the  further 

51 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

end  of  the  empire  from  his  elder  half-brother,  Archduke 
Joseph,  the  Hungarian  par  excellence.  Of  his  uncles, 
Charles  and  Charles'  elder  brother  Ferdinand  —  after- 
wards Grand  Duke  of  Tuscany  —  Archduke  Joseph  had 
a  quaint  story  to  tell. 

One  day  in  the  year  1778,  when  the  two  brothers, 
aged  nine  and  seven,  respectively,  were  playing  with  a 
box  of  wooden  soldiers  in  an  ante-room  of  the  grand- 
ducal  palace  at  Florence,  there  entered  a  gentleman  who 
had  a  little  boy,  his  son,  with  him,  to  pay  his  respects 
to  the  Grand  Duke  of  Tuscany,  the  father  of  the  two 
brothers,  and  later  the  Emperor  Leopold  II.  After  wait- 
ing some  minutes  in  the  ante-room,  the  stranger  was  sum- 
moned to  the  Grand  Duke's  study,  and  departed,  leaving 
behind  him  his  son,  a  sallow,  aggressive  child  with  fine 
grey  eyes  and  a  prematurely  serious  expression. 

In  his  father's  absence,  the  boy  amused  himself  by 
joining  the  two  small  royalties  in  their  mimic  warfare 
on  the  carpet;  gradually,  however,  to  their  displeasure, 
he  began  to  get  the  better  of  them,  his  toy  cannon  — 
which  he  worked  vigorously  —  mowing  down  their  sol- 
diers as  fast  as  they  could  set  them  up.  At  last,  when  a 
quarrel  was  imminent  and  the  little  Archdukes  were  on 
the  point  of  pummelling  their  adversary,  they  were  dis- 
turbed by  the  return  of  his  father  accompanied  by  the 
kindly  Grand  Duke  in  person. 

"  Eh,  but  your  youngster  is  beginning  well.  Monsieur 
de  Bonaparte,"  he  laughed,  "  I  see  he  has  been  outman- 
oeuvering  my  sons  while  we  have  been  talking  in  there. 
Well,  good  luck  to  him  —  I  trust  you  will  have  no  further 

52 


SOVEREIGNS,  TREATIES,  AND  TRADITIONS 

trouble  in  getting  him  into  the  establishment  at  Brienne, 
now  that  our  friends,  the  heralds,  are  satisfied  about 
him!" 

For,  there  had  been  a  good  deal  of  difficulty  in  con- 
vincing the  French  heralds  of  the  nobility  of  their  future 
emperor's  descent  without  proof  of  which  young  Bona- 
parte could  not  obtain  admittance  to  the  military  school; 
only  upon  the  Grand  Duke's  personal  recommendation, 
indeed,  was  he  admitted  at  all. 

The  lesson  of  the  wooden  soldiers  was  taken  deeply 
to  heart  by  Archduke  Charles,  who  showed  that  he 
knew  his  business  better  when  next  he  found  himself 
pitted  against  his  former  merciless  opponent  (and 
nephew  to  be ! )  in  1 809  at  Essling  and  Aspern.  As  Napo- 
leon said,  "  Those  who  did  not  see  the  Austrians  fight 
at  Aspern  have  never  seen  real  fighting."  Archduke 
Charles  took  as  deeply  to  heart  his  second  decisive  de- 
feat—  that  of  Wagram  —  at  the  greatest  of  all  soldier's 
hands,  and  his  subsequent  disgrace  by  his  brother,  the 
Emperor  Francis;  but  his  military  abilities  were  amply 
transferred  to  his  son.  Archduke  Albrecht,  the  victor 
of  Custozza. 

Archduke  John,  who  married  (like  the  sensible  man 
he  was,  for  love)  Anna  Plochel,  a  beautiful  girl  of  the 
people,  and  left  an  only  son,  Franz,  Count  of  Meran, 
will  be  for  ever  bound  up  in  the  affection  of  Tyrol  with 
the  great  patriot  of  the  country,  Andreas  Hofer.  To- 
gether they  bore  the  weight  of  the  struggle  against  the 
French  and  the  Bavarians,  the  Archduke  on  the  southern 
side  of  the  Alps,  and  Hofer  in  Tyrol  itself.    What  good 

53 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

Archduke  John  suffered  by  the  handing  over  of  his  be- 
loved country  to  Marshal  Mortier,  —  and  from  the 
Emperor  Francis'  base  abandonment  of  Hofer,  whose 
execution  by  the  French  he  permitted  without  so  much 
as  a  protest,  —  one  can  hardly  fail  to  imagine.  After 
Tyrol  had  been  made  over  by  Napoleon  to  his  ally  the 
King  of  Bavaria,  the  latter  undertook  to  make  him- 
self popular  with  the  inhabitants  by  mixing  among  them 
in  the  Austrian  fashion.  His  favourite  method  was  to 
attend  the  rifle-shooting  competitions  and  to  bestow  the 
prizes.  These  competitions  have  always  taken  place  on 
Sunday  afternoons;  any  one  may  enter,  and  the  village 
priest  acts  as  judge.  On  one  of  these  occasions,  the 
Bavarian  monarch,  in  bestowing  the  prize  —  a  rosette 
of  the  Bavarian  colours  —  remarked  that  he  trusted  the 
recipient  would  grow  as  fond  of  the  Bavarian  blue  and 
white  as  he  had  doubtless  been  of  the  Austrian  black 
and  yellow  in  days  gone  by.  To  this  the  prize-winner, 
an  elderly  man,  replied,  scratching  his  head:  — "  Na, 
your  Majesty,  it 's  like  this  —  when  I  hang  up  the  rosette 
in  my  chimney  nook  it  will  soon  look  just  the  same  as 
the  other  to  me.  The  blue  will  soon  turn  to  black  and 
the  white  to  yellow  with  the  fire-smoke.  It 's  my  belief 
that  the  old  colours  last  the  best!  " 

The  line  of  Hapsburg-Lorraine  from  which  sprang 
the  Archduke  Joseph  of  my  acquaintance  as  well  as  his 
cousin,  Ferdinand,  the  last  Grand  Duke  of  Tuscany, 
another  friend  of  those  days,  is  notable  for  the  excep- 
tional brilliancy — and  sometimes,  as  in  the  case  of 
Archduke  Ferdinand's  youngest  brother,  Archduke  John 

54 


SOVEREIGNS,  TREATIES,  AND  TRADITIONS 

Salvator,  the  "  Johann  Orth  "  of  such  ill-starred  celeb- 
rity, the  eccentricity  too  —  of  its  members. 

It  was  at  a  "  Bal  bei  Hof,"  as  far  as  I  remember, 
that  I  first  met  Archduke  John  Salvator,  a  short,  wiry 
man  with  a  small  beard  and  thick  moustache  that  en- 
tirely failed  to  hide  the  unmistakable  Bourbon  under- 
lip;  had  he  been  older  and  worn  spectacles,  he  might 
have  been  taken  for  Archduke  Albrecht.  His  eyes 
were  rather  remarkable  for  a  look  of  uncertain  ob- 
stinacy, as  though  he  were  at  once  eager,  yet  unsure  of 
his  purpose.  For  this  peculiarity,  there  was  no  account- 
ing, but  his  underlip  was  more  than  explained  by  the 
fact  that  his  mother  was  a  granddaughter  of  old  King 
Ferdinand  of  Naples,  the  friend  of  Nelson  and  the 
Hamiltons  in  the  bloody  days  of  1799.  It  may  not  be 
the  popular  view,  but,  for  myself,  I  cannot  help  thinking 
that  that  same  King  Ferdinand  has  been  made  somewhat 
of  a  scapegoat  for  the  doings  of  that  time ;  if,  on  the  face 
of  it,  he  were  guilty  of  undue  harshness  towards  his 
rebellious  subjects,  it  seems  to  me  that  some  other  people 
who  were  quite  as  guilty,  have  escaped  much  of  the  odium 
of  their  responsibilities. 

But  to  return  to  Archduke  John  Salvator.  In  1881 
he  was  known  as  one  of  the  most  retiring  of  all  the  Arch- 
dukes; a  serious  soldier  and  something  of  a  musician, 
who  preferred  his  own  society  to  that  of  the  Viennese 
world,  generally  speaking.  He  was  then  a  major-gen- 
eral of  Infantry  and,  by  all  accounts,  an  extremely  prom- 
ising officer;  also,  if  the  gossip  were  right,  a  dissatisfied 
and  restless  character,  with  opinions  of  his  own  upon  the 

S5 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

conduct  of  military  affairs,  —  opinions  that  would,  sooner 
or  later,  vent  themselves  in  active  measures  should  they 
find  an  opportunity  for  doing  so.  He  seemed  to  take 
more  interest  in  the  younger  members  of  the  Imperial 
family  than  in  their  seniors,  his  marked  preference 
being  for  the  Archduke  Rudolf,  the  youthful  heir  to 
the  throne. 

If  Archduke  Johann  Salvator  had  any  other  partial- 
ity, it  was  for  children,  foremost  among  them  the  little 
twelve-year-old  Archduchess  Louise,  the  daughter  of  his 
brother,  the  Grand  Duke  of  Tuscany,  who  has,  since 
then,  as  Crown  Princess  of  Saxony,  been  the  central 
figure  of  so  desolating  a  domestic  tragedy. 

Who  would  have  dreamed  that  the  shy,  self-centred 
Infantry  officer  of  those  days  was  destined  for  what  now 
appears  to  have  been,  without  reasonable  doubt,  the 
dreadfully  sad  end  that  awaited  him  off  the  desolate 
coast  of  South  America?  When  I  saw  him  he  was  only 
thirty  years  of  age  and  eight  years  were  yet  to  pass  before 
he  found  his  fate.  He  had  long  been  in  search  of  some 
one  with  whom  he  could  fall  in  love  and  marry;  but  there 
was  no  girl  of  his  own  rank  to  be  found  for  him  on  those 
lines;  eligible  princesses,  yes,  plenty  of  them,  but  none 
who  attracted  him.  So  he  put  the  thought  of  Love  away 
from  him  until  it  should  find  him  out  and  give  him  what 
he  desired;  and,  in  the  meantime,  he  turned  his  attention 
to  pressing,  openly,  for  army  reform  —  a  dangerous 
subject  in  any  country  and  particularly  so,  at  that  time, 
in  his  own. 

Later  on,  the  publication  of  his  pamphlet  "  Drill  or 

56 


SOVEREIGNS,  TREATIES,  AND  TRADITIONS 

Education "  so  exasperated  the  authorities  that,  in 
1883,  he  was  transferred  in  disgrace  to  the  garrison  of 
Linz,  whence  nothing  much  was  heard  of  him  for  three 
years.  During  that  time,  he  lived  carefully  within  the 
proper  limits  of  his  office  as  a  major-general,  and  showed 
no  signs  of  any  recurring  disposition  towards  misplaced 
initiative.  But  not  for  long;  in  1886,  on  Prince  Alex- 
ander of  Battenberg's  resignation  from  the  post  of 
Bulgarian  ruler.  Archduke  John  Salvator,  from  Linz, 
offered  himself  to  the  Bulgarian  people  in  the  capacity 
of  their  prince  —  with  a  political  programme  so  un- 
Austrian  that  his  own  family  was  furiously  angry  with 
him,  and,  when  he  resigned  his  candidature  in  favour  of 
the  present  "  Tsar  of  All  the  Bulgars,"  deposed  him 
from  his  generalship  in  the  army.  Thereupon,  he  seized 
the  occasion  to  lay  aside  his  sword  for  ever  and  devote 
himself  to  pursuits  more  congenial  to  his  tastes  than 
soldiering  in  time  of  peace.  The  only  honour  he  could 
not  resign  was  the  Order  of  the  Golden  Fleece,  but  he 
shed  all  the  others  attached  to  his  royal  birth  when,  a 
few  years  later,  he  married  the  lovely  little  actress, 
Ludmilla  Stubel,  chartered  a  ship  called  the  Sainte  Mar- 
guerite, and  sailed  for  Buenos  Ayres  with  a  load  of 
cement!  His  wife  accompanied  him  and  the  port  was 
reached  safely,  but  they  never  made  another  in  this 
world.  On  the  12th  of  July,  1890,  they  left  Buenos 
Ayres  for  Valparaiso,  intending  to  round  Cape  Horn, 
as  all  sailing  vessels  must,  the  navigation  of  the  Straits 
of  Magellan  being  too  complicated  for  anything  but 
steamers.    A  few  days  after  their  departure  from  Buenos 

57 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

Ayres  a  terrific  storm  broke  over  the  South  Atlantic 
and  engulfed  the  Sainte  Marguerite  v/ith  all  on  board. 
No  sign  of  her  or  any  of  her  crew  has  ever  been  seen 
since;  search  after  search  was  made  by  the  Austrian  and 
Chilean  Governments,  their  cruisers  exploring  every  yard 
of  coast  and  all  the  bleak  islands  that  lie  off  it;  the  mis- 
sionaries instituted  a  search  of  their  own,  and  had  any 
trace  been  left  of  the  unfortunate  Archduke  and  his 
companions,  they  would  have  found  it,  their  knowledge 
both  of  the  coast  and  inland  districts  being  exception- 
ally complete.  Twenty  years  after  the  disaster  the 
Archduke  John  Salvator,  otherwise  known  as  Johann 
Orth,  was  officially  proclaimed  deceased,  and  his  prop- 
erty divided  among  his  legal  heirs.  One  more  in  the  long 
list  of  tragedies  that  have  fallen  upon  the  unhappy 
House  of  Austria ! 

Speaking  of  Archduke  John  Salvator's  family  resem- 
blance to  his  ancestor,  Ferdinand  of  Naples  and  the  two 
Sicilies,  reminds  me  of  a  seriously  disputed  point  in  his 
features  —  to-wit,  his  underlip.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the 
Bourbon  lip  is  said  to  have  first  been  introduced  into 
the  House  of  Hapsburg  as  far  back  as  1440  through 
the  Emperor  Frederick  IV  who  inherited  it  from  his 
Polish  mother,  Cymburga,  daughter  of  the  Duke  of 
Mazovia.  The  Emperor  Frederick  it  was,  moreover, 
who  invented  for  himself  and  his  successors  the  famous 
monogram  A.  E.  I.  O.  U.,  which  is  found  on  everything 
belonging  to  him,  his  pottery,  his  books,  and  even  on 
his  monument  in  the  Stefanskirche.  Nobody  seems  to 
be  quite  sure  what  the  letters  once  stood  for,  but  here  are 

58 


SOVEREIGNS,  TREATIES,  AND  TRADITIONS 

some  of  the  accepted  meanings  of  the  riddle:  —  "  Aquila 
Electa  Juste  Omnia  Vincit  "  (The  justly  elected  eagle 
conquers  all)  ;  "  Austriae  Est  Imperare  Orbi  Universo  " 
or  in  German,  "  Alles  Erdreich  1st  Oesterreich  Unter- 
than "  —  that  is  to  say,  "All  the  Earth  is  subject  to 
Austria,"  which,  as  the  "  Bab  Ballads  "  (or  is  it  the 
"  Bon  Gaultier"?)  puts  it  "is  pretty,  but  I  don't  know 
what  it  means!  " 

And  yet  it  is  strange  how  utterly  dissimilar  are  the  two 
lines  of  Hapsburg  and  Sicily  —  in  almost  every  other 
respect  but  this  and  one  other,  namely,  a  delightfully 
democratic  simplicity  and  kindliness  in  the  little  things 
of  daily  life,  a  trait  as  marked  in  the  present  venerable 
Emperor  to-day  as  it  was  in  his  great-great  uncle  by 
marriage,  the  much-abused  Ferdinand  I  of  Naples,  a 
hundred  years  ago  and  more.  To  this  day  —  apart  from 
questions  of  Court  procedure  —  the  Austrian  Imperial 
family  is  the  most  genuinely  accessible  and,  as  the  Ger- 
mans say,  "  gemuthlich  "  (there  is  no  English  word  to 
express  it)  of  all  the  reigning  houses  of  the  world, 
including  even  the  occupants  of  presidential  palaces  in 
various  republics.  The  Emperor's  weekly  reception  day 
is  an  instance  of  this,  when  he  sits  for  hours  at  a  time 
listening  to  the  complaints  and  petitions  of  all  classes  of 
his  subjects.  None  so  poor  or  humble  but  their  Emperor 
receives  them  as  a  father  does  his  children;  he  sits  on 
one  side  of  a  table  and,  if  they  wish,  they  may  occupy 
the  chair  set  on  the  other  side  and  so  be  at  their  ease. 
There  is  no  one  else  present.  If  there  be  any  rich  people 
among  those  awaiting  audience,  the  probability  is  that 

59 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

they  may  have  to  wait  the  longest.  It  Is  a  strange  col- 
lection of  humanity  that  fills  the  Emperor's  ante-room 
on  these  occasions  —  peasants  to  complain  of  grasping 
landlords  or  to  ask  for  help  in  difficulties;  priests,  sol- 
diers, farmers;  a  young  fellow  asking  for  some  govern- 
ment employment  the  better  to  support  his  parents  or 
marry  his  sweetheart;  every  kind  of  sorrow,  hope, 
anxiety,  or  ambition  Is  brought  there  by  them  to  their 
Emperor.  And  never  does  he  refuse,  if  he  can  avoid  It, 
to  help  them.  How  different  from  the  case  in  some 
countries,  where  the  Crown  Is  no  more  a  party  of  the 
national  life  than  are  the  national  monuments! 

In  other  ways,  too,  the  Emperor  Francis  Joseph  Is 
very,  very  dear  to  his  people;  not  only  does  he  actually 
share  their  joys  and  sorrows  in  time  of  peace,  but.  In 
time  of  war  he  has  taken  equal  physical  risks  with  the 
humblest  soldier  In  the  ranks.  No  one  has  forgotten 
how,  in  the  darkest  hours  of  June  24,  1859,  the  Em- 
peror in  person  led  his  cavalry  against  the  French  and 
Sardinian  artillery  and  Infantry;  nor  has  his  cry  to  his 
soldiers  on  that  day  been  forgotten  — "  I,  too,  am  a 
married  man  with  a  wife  and  son  at  home!  "  In  every 
sense,  Francis  Joseph  has  always  been  what  Princess 
Metternlch  called  "  a  real "  Sovereign.  She  It  was,  by 
the  way,  who,  on  being  taken  to  task  by  a  Frenchwoman 
for  criticising  the  Empress  Eugenie  for  smoking,  was 
reminded,  at  the  same  time  — "  And  what  about  the 
Empress  of  Austria  —  she  even  smokes  big  cigars! 
What  do  you  say  to  that?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing  at  all,  of  course,"  was  the  reply.     "My 

60 


SOVEREIGNS,  TREATIES,  AND  TRADITIONS 

Empress  has  a  right  to  do  as  she  thinks  best  in  such 
things.     But,  then  —  she  is  a  real  Empress,  you  see!  " 

In  Ferdinand  I  of  Naples,  the  family  trait  of  good- 
humoured  simplicity  showed  itself  rather  differently. 
He  was  simply  a  Neapolitan  idler,  nothing  more  nor 
less,  whose  one  accomplishment  was  trimming  lamps. 
A  great  part  of  his  day  was  passed,  both  in  Naples  and 
at  Caserta,  in  the  lamp-closet;  for  the  lamps  of  that 
time  took  each  nearly  an  hour  to  prepare  and  to  light 
—  they  were  just  such  as  I  remember  in  my  childhood 
at  Palazzo  Odescalchi.  Contrary  to  the  widely  accepted 
notion,  King  Ferdinand  was  not  cruel,  in  the  sense  that 
it  gave  him  any  pleasure  to  witness,  or  be  the  cause 
of,  suffering,  whether  human  or  animal;  he  was  simply 
physically  indifferent  to  the  suffering  of  others.  If,  at 
times,  he  would  appear  to  have  been  harsh  or  blood- 
thirsty, it  was  due  to  this  and  to  fear  rather  than  to  any 
innate  cruelty. 

The  affair  of  Murat  is  curiously  illustrative  of  Fer- 
dinand's character. 

Murat,  who  as  King  of  Naples  under  Napoleon  was 
dispossessed  of  his  throne  by  the  Austrians  at  the  battle 
of  Tolentino,  in  March,  1815,  took  refuge  first  in  France 
and  then  in  Corsica  to  await  events.  During  the  time  of 
the  occupation  of  France  by  the  allies  after  Waterloo, 
no  attempt  was  made  by  them  to  molest  him,  although, 
had  they  wished,  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  they 
could  have  had  him  arrested  at  any  time.  But  no; 
on  the  contrary,  every  effort  was  made  to  shield  him 
from  publicity,   and  the   Emperor   Francis,   considering 

61 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

him  as  a  relative  (through  Napoleon  whose  sister  was 
Murat's  wife),  offered  him,  in  the  autumn  of  1815,  an 
asylum  in  Austria  for  himself  and  his  family,  promis- 
ing to  make  over  to  them  a  suitable  estate  and  that  they 
should  be  treated  with  the  deference  due  to  their  rank 
and  as  members  of  the  Imperial  family.  This  generous 
offer  poor  Murat  was  ill-advised  enough  to  reject  when 
it  reached  him;  his  wife  had  already  availed  herself 
of  it  and  had  gone  to  Austria  with  her  children.  Her 
husband,  as  we  know,  left  Corsica  secretly,  on  the  first 
of  October,  18 15,  for  Calabria  in  the  southern  part 
of  his  former  kingdom,  with  the  Idea  of  regaining  his 
throne  by  means  of  a  popular  uprising. 

As  we  know,  too,  he  failed  and  was  taken  prisoner 
and  confined  in  the  Castle  of  Pizzo,  there  to  be  tried  by 
a  courtmartial  acting  under  orders  from  King  Ferdinand 
at  Naples. 

And  now  was  shown  the  contrast  between  the  two  men 
—  the  easy-going,  timorous  Ferdinand,  and  his  prisoner, 
the  farmer's  son  of  Bastide  Fortuniere,  the  successful 
cavalryman  whose  facile  vanity  had  been  the  butt  of 
smaller  spirits. 

On  learning  that  he  was  to  be  tried  by  courtmartial, 
Murat  proffered  only  two  demands,  that  a  tailor  might 
be  sent  for  to  make  him  a  civilian  suit  of  clothes  in  which 
to  appear  before  the  court  in  place  of  his  uniform,  and 
that  all  the  eau-de-cologne  available  should  be  procured 
for  his  bath,  a  comfort  he  had  not  been  able  to  obtain 
for  some  days  past.  He  had  hopes,  all  along,  that  Fer- 
dinand would  spare  him  out  of  regard  for  his  wife  and 

62 


SOVEREIGNS,  TREATIES,  AND  TRADITIONS 

the  Emperor  of  Austria;  but  he  was  fated  to  be  cruelly 
disappointed.  The  trial  took  place  in  due  course,  the 
prisoner  abstaining  from  sanctioning  it  with  his  pres- 
ence, and  ended  in  his  being  sentenced  to  be  shot,  almost 
at  once. 

Joachim  Murat  met  his  fate  with  perfect  good  man- 
ners and  the  unruffled  urbanity  of  an  accomplished 
cavalier;  all  he  asked  of  the  soldiers  who  formed  the 
firing-party  was  that  they  would  be  careful  not  to  dis- 
figure his  face,  but  to  take  aim  at  the  region  of  his  heart. 
He,  himself,  gave  the  word  to  fire,  and  was  instantly 
killed  by  a  single  volley,  a  few  minutes  after  three 
o'clock  on  the  afternoon  of  October  13,  1815.  His 
body  was  laid  out  in  the  room  he  had  been  occupying 
in  the  castle  and  a  sentry  was  stationed  outside  the 
door.  The  sentry  had  not  been  there  very  long  be- 
fore a  young  man,  a  civilian,  carrying  a  carpet-bag,  pre- 
sented himself,  requesting  admittance  to  the  room  on 
the  pretext  of  drawing  up  a  certificate  of  death  to  be  for- 
warded to  the  authorities  at  Naples.  He  showed  a  pass 
from  the  commander  of  the  citadel  and  was  permitted  to 
enter  the  room,  the  door  of  which  he  shut  and  locked 
behind  him.  It  was  not  until  towards  evening  that  he 
issued  once  more,  bag  In  hand,  and  walked  out  through 
the  dusk  into  the  town.  When,  towards  eight  o'clock, 
the  commandant  himself,  with  the  local  undertaker's 
men,  entered  the  room  for  the  purpose  of  placing  their 
ex-King's  remains  in  the  coffin  that  had  been  constructed 
for  them,  they  received  rather  a  rude  shock  —  for  the 
body  was  headless! 

63 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

Nearly  ten  years  passed  away  before  the  sequel  of 
this  mutilation  was  brought  to  light.  One  sunny  morning 
in  January,  1825,  the  personal  attendants  of  old  King 
Ferdinand  were  alarmed  as  hour  after  hour  passed  by 
and  they  were  vouchsafed  no  sign  of  the  King's  being 
awake.  At  last  they  decided  to  go  into  his  apartment; 
he  must  be  ill,  they  thought,  or  he  would,  long  before, 
have  rung  his  bell  for  them.  To  their  horror  they 
found  him  all  twisted  up  in  the  bedclothes,  stone-dead; 
he  had  evidently  died  of  a  fit  before  he  could  summon 
assistance. 

Some  weeks  later  when  an  inventory  of  the  contents 
of  King  Ferdinand's  room  was  taken  by  the  marshal 
of  the  palace,  there  was  discovered  among  them  a  small 
but  weighty  mahogany  box,  measuring  about  a  foot  each 
way,  that  had  always  been  kept  by  the  King  in  a  compart- 
ment of  the  night-table  beside  his  bed.  It  was  locked; 
but  they  could  find  no  key  to  it,  and  so  broke  it  open. 
What  was  their  amazement  —  to  say  the  least  of  it  — 
on  finding,  inside  it,  another  box  of  thick  glass  contain- 
ing the  head  of  a  man  —  that  of  Joachim  Murat!  King 
Ferdinand  had  kept  it  by  him  through  the  years,  not,  as 
some  might  suppose,  to  gloat  over  it,  but  so  that  he 
might  have  it  to  show  in  proof  of  Murat's  death,  in 
the  event  of  any  one's  venturing  to  stir  up  a  popular 
uprising  by  personifying  the  dead  leader  of  so  many  a 
desperate  venture ! 

A  curious  detail  of  Murat's  checkered  career  was  his 
visit,  many  years  earlier,  to  a  celebrated  soothsayer  in 
Paris,  the  famous  Mademoiselle  Lenormand,  who  warned 

64 


SOVEREIGNS,  TREATIES,  AND  TRADITIONS 

him   of  his   end,    as   a   modern   fortune-teller  of   Paris, 

Madame   de   T ,    is   said  to   have  warned  the   late 

President  Faure  and  Chavez  the  aviator  who  met  his 
death,  the  other  day,  in  crossing  the  Alps. 

Mademoiselle  Lenormand,  described  as  a  fussy  little 
old  woman  with  hair  cut  short,  who  generally  wore  a 
shabby  braided  jacket  like  an  hussar's  "  dolman,"  was 
the  person  invariably  consulted  by  Napoleon  I  —  accord- 
ing to  her  own  account  —  prior  to  his  campaigns;  she, 
it  was,  moreover,  who  foretold  to  Josephine  her  divorce. 
She  survived  them  all,  living  until  1843.  ^he  is  said  to 
have  been  made  use  of  as  a  police  spy  by  Fouche  —  with 
how  much  truth,  though,  it  is  hard  to  tell.  Murat  called 
upon  her,  in  disguise,  sometime,  I  fancy,  during  the  years 
1808  or  1809,  when  he  was  already  King  of  Naples  and 
was  in  hopes  of  being  promoted  to  the  throne  of  Spain. 
The  old  lady  received  him  without  comment,  as  though 
taking  him  for  any  ordinary  citizen,  and  shuffled  a  pack 
of  cards,  prior  to  handing  them  to  him  with  the  usual 
request  that  he  should  cut  them.  This  he  did  and  turned 
up  the  fatal  one  —  the  King  of  Diamonds,  better  known 
as  the  "  Grand  Pendu."  It  must  be  explained  that  among 
the  cards  used  by  fortune-tellers  the  "  Grand  Pendu  " 
is  represented  by  a  figure  hanging  by  one  foot  to  a  gal- 
lows; it  is  held  to  betoken,  invariably,  a  death  by  the 
hand  of  the  executioner.  Four  times  in  succession  did 
the  disguised  Murat  cut  the  same  card;  each  time 
Mademoiselle  Lenormand  quickly  shuffled  the  pack  and 
told  him  to  cut  again.    At  last  she  ceased. 

"Let   me   try   again  —  just  this   once,"   pleaded   her 

65 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

client.  But  she  shook  her  head  and  rose  from  the 
table. 

"  No,  that  is  enough,"  she  returned  with  her  habitual 
contemptuous  brevity,  "the  seance  is  at  an  end  —  and 
the  fee  for  monarchs  is  ten  louis." 

She  had  recognised  him  at  once;  there  was  nothing 
for  it  but  to  pay,  which  he  did,  with  as  good  a  grace  as 
he  could  muster. 

If  Murat  was  not  a  great  ruler  —  in  his  capacity  of 
King  of  Naples  —  at  least,  he  was  a  popular  one,  by 
comparison  with  his  predecessor  on  that  throne,  Joseph 
Bonaparte.  To  his  credit,  Murat  did  what  practical 
good  he  could  for  his  subjects,  while  King  Joseph  con- 
fined his  activities  to  depriving  the  people  —  in  so  far 
as  lay  in  his  power  —  of  their  religion,  by  suppressing 
one  convent  or  monastery  after  another.  Upon  some, 
however,  even  Joseph  and  his  creature,  Salicetti,  had  not 
sufficient  hardihood  to  lay  hands,  both  from  fear  of 
Heaven  and  of  a  popular  uprising.  Amongst  these  in 
particular,  was  that  of  the  Alcantarine  Capuchins  situ- 
ated on  the  Chiaja;  it  was  this  convent  that  sheltered 
one  of  the  most  remarkable  men  of  that  time,  the  poor, 
unlettered  lay-brother,  Fra  Egidio  Pontillo,  whose 
supernatural  powers  had  made  him  famous  —  very  much 
against  his  will  —  all  over  southern  Italy  long  before 
Joseph  Bonaparte's  arrival  in  Naples  in  1806.  When 
the  latter  heard  of  the  Capuchin  thaumaturgist  and  of  his 
miraculous  gifts,  he  sent  for  him  in  the  intention  of 
consulting  him  as  to  what  the  future  might  hold.  Fra 
Egidio  obeyed  the  summons  and  repaired  to  the  Palazzo 

66 


SOVEREIGNS,  TREATIES,  AND  TRADITIONS 

Capodimonte.  After  waiting  for  some  time  there,  he 
was  ushered  into  the  presence  of  King  Joseph  of  whom, 
without  any  preliminary,  he  asked: 

"  Well,  and  what  is  it  that  you  want  with  me?  " 

Although  the  monarch  was  not  unprepared  for  a  cer- 
tain bluntness  from  the  friar  whose  frank  simplicity  of 
speech  was  well  known,  yet  he  was  somewhat  taken  back 
by  the  directness  of  this  greeting.  At  last  he  contrived 
to  reply  with  another  question: 

"  Tell  me,  Sor  Frate  mio,"  he  inquired,  "  do  you 
think  I  shall  die  on  the  throne?  " 

"  Was  your  Majesty  born  on  the  throne?  "  returned  the 
monk. 

"No!" 

"  Then  why  are  you  anxious  to  die  there?  " 

And  Joseph,  under  the  uncomfortable  impression  that 
he  was  being  made  fun  of,  angrily  dismissed  Fra  Egidio, 
calling  him  a  madman ! 

Some  years  ago  I  happened  to  see  Madame  Bernhardt, 
as  the  "  Due  de  Reichstadt  "  in  Rostand's  great  play, 
"  L'Aiglon  "  in  London.  It  was  quite  by  chance  that  I 
came  to  find  myself  in  the  theatre  that  afternoon  —  it 
was  a  matinee  performance  —  one  of  those  chances  to 
which  one  owes  so  much.  In  this  instance  I  had  to  be 
grateful,  not  only  for  the  delight  of  witnessing  Madame 
Bernhardt's  amazing  artistic  tour  de  force,  but  also  for 
the  revival  of  a  host  of  old  associations  and  memories. 
It  was  a  strange  experience  for  me,  I  confess,  the  struggle 
between  the  sympathies  aroused  for  a  particular  cause 
by  a  great  artist's  skill,  and  the  deep-rooted  official  and 

67 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

social  prejudices  of  the  Old  Order,  by  which  I  had  been 
surrounded  in  my  married  life,  against  that  same  cause 
of  the  Napoleonic  Empire.  To  the  men  of  my  hus- 
band's generation,  those  who  began  their  careers  as 
officials  immediately  after  the  bursting  of  the  bubble  of 
new  ideas,  in  1848  and  1849,  ^^^  rightful  basis  of  all 
political  life  and  of  all  social  order  was  the  Congress 
of  Vienna  of  18 14-18 15.  The  Congress  of  Vienna 
settled  everything,  in  the  opinion  of  all  official  Europe 
(which  in  its  heart  of  hearts  knows  not  a  French  or 
a  Portuguese  Republic,  nor  yet  an  United  Italy  —  for 
this  last  is  still,  to  the  innermost  conscience  of  the  more 
orthodox  Chanceries  of  Europe  nothing  more  than  a 
geographical  expression).  Tradition  is,  after  religion, 
the  strongest  and  the  purest  of  motives  in  the  lives  of 
those  whom  it  touches  at  all;  to  the  great  international 
family  of  practically  hered,itary  officials  — "  nous 
autres "  —  as  colleague  addresses  colleague  over  the 
heads  of  their  individual  contending  and  factious 
nations  —  the  Congress  of  Vienna  is  what  the  Council 
of  Ephesus  or  Nicaea  is  to  Christianity.  Those  who  do 
not  —  in  heart,  at  least,  since  outward  adherence  is 
rarely  practicable  —  adhere  to  what  may  be  called  the 
"  Intentions  of  the  Congress,"  labour  under  the  great 
and  very  real  disadvantage  of  never  being  able  to  obtain, 
in  their  dealings  with  the  inner  ring  of  "  true  believers," 
admission  to  the  real  interior  life  of  that  ring,  its  rival- 
ries and  reconciliations,  the  common  hopes  and  fears 
that  will  never  fail  to  unite  its  members  in  the  face  of 
their  common  enemy,  as  in  18 13  and  1848.     In  no  walk 

68 


SOVEREIGNS,  TREATIES,  AND  TRADITIONS 

of  life  more  than  in  the  little  world  of  diplomacy  have 
men  come  to  learn  that  they  cannot  gather  grapes  from 
thorns  or  figs  from  thistles  —  and  that  a  house  divided 
against  itself  cannot  stand.  And  the  common  enemy, 
be  it  said,  has  been  the  same  ever  since  1792  —  the  forces 
of  novelty  and  political  disintegration  in  the  guise  of 
Liberalism.  But  to  go  back  to  "  L'Aiglon  "  and  the 
characters  it  represents. 

The  "  Metternich  "  of  M.  Rostand's  play  struck  me 
—  if  I  may  be  allowed  to  say  so  —  as  rather  an  unfair 
picture  of  the  great  statesman,  who  had  been  so  often 
described  to  me  by  those  who  had  known  and  served 
under  him  in  their  youth.  He  was  neither  heartless  nor 
cynical,  but  simply  a  practical-minded  official  who,  — 
as  so  many  others,  however  mistakenly,  have  done  — 
persistently  separated  questions  of  business  from  those 
of  religion.  His  instrumentality  in  bringing  about  the 
so-called  "  marriage "  of  his  master's  daughter,  the 
Archduchess  Marie  Louise,  with  Napoleon,  was  the  one 
great  crime  of  Metternich's  life  with  which  he  had  to 
reproach  himself  —  together  with  its  consequences  — 
for  nearly  fifty  years.  And  he  was  bitterly  sorry  for 
it.  Amongst  those  who  had  grown  up  under  him,  in  the 
Viennese  world  of  the  early  eighties,  were  several  roy- 
alties and  officials;  and  more  than  one  elderly  person  — 
notably,  old  Prince  Schwarzenberg  —  who  belonged 
rather  to  Metternich's  own  generation  than  to  any  later. 

To  such  as  these,  Metternich  was  always  the  model 
of  a  statesman;  if,  indeed,  they  condemned  the  morality 
of  his  policy  in  the  matter  of  the  Archduchess  Marie 

69 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

Louise,  at  least  they  gave  him  credit  for  the  best  of 
patriotic  motives  in  regard  to  it.  But,  as  even  Prince 
Schwarzenberg,  for  instance,  was  born  nearly  thirty 
years  later  than  Metternich,  the  figure  of  the  great  man 
was  also  for  him,  as  for  most  people,  too  fenced  about 
with  seniority  and  glory  to  be  quite  upon  the  plane  of 
everyday  criticism.  Of  Metternich,  if  of  any  man,  it 
can  be  said  that  he  lived  upon  an  Olympus  of  his  own 
creation;  even  in  the  hour  of  his  downfall,  he  was  greater 
than  any  of  those  about  him,  whether  friend  or  foe. 

I  have  never  heard,  definitely,  whose  voice  it  was  that 
shouted  the  words  which  put  an  end  to  his  political  career, 
in  the  crowded  ante-room  of  the  Hofburg  that  tem- 
pestuous   day    of    1848  —  "Metternich    must    resign!" 

They   say   it  was   a   certain   Count   B ,   from  lower 

Austria,  the  mouthpiece  of  the  Archduchess  Sophie,  the 
patroness  of  Jellacic  and  the  woman  to  whom  more  than 
to  any  other  individual  was  due  the  reservation  of  the 
Austro-Hungarian  throne  for  her  son,  the  present 
venerable  Emperor.  Truth  to  tell,  she  seems  to  have 
been  the  only  statesman  at  that  time  in  the  country!  But 
the  picture  of  Metternich,  as  he  heard  the  words  and 
came  calmly  forward  from  his  place  among  the  Arch- 
dukes and  officials  towards  the  excited  crowd  of  citizens 
at  the  other  end  of  the  room,  is  distinctly  impressive; 
those  who  witnessed  it  never  forgot  the  old  man's  extra- 
ordinary calm  or  the  measured,  slightly  contemptuous 
dignity  of  his  reply,  accepting  the  popular  "  fiat  "  : 

"  You  say  that  my  resignation  alone  can  restore  peace 
to  the  city  —  forthwith  I  tender  it  with  pleasure.     Good 

70 


SOVEREIGNS,  TREATIES,  AND  TRADITIONS 

luck  to  you  with  your  new  Government,  and  good  luck 
to  —  Austria  1  " 

It  was  said  by  those  present  that  the  revolutionaries 
were  actually  ashamed  of  themselves  in  the  face  of  Met- 
ternich's  composure  and  that  one  of  them  offered  an  apol- 
ogy, declaring  that  they  had  no  personal  grudge  against 
him  but  only  against  his  system.  I  never  heard,  how- 
ever, that  he  vouchsafed  any  further  reply. 

Prince  Schwarzenberg's  own  connection  with  the  events 
of  that  year  was  principally  through  his  cousin,  Felix 
Schwarzenberg,  a  son  of  the  famous  field-marshal  who 
contributed  so  largely  to  the  success  of  the  allied  armies 
against  Napoleon  in  1813  and  1814.  There  can  surely 
have  been  very  few  people  at  once  so  detested  and  so 
beloved  as  Prince  Felix  Schwarzenberg,  the  friend  and 
pupil  of  Metternich  and  Radetzky.  His  personality 
seems  to  me  one  of  the  most  strikingly  original  to  be  met 
with  anywhere  in  modern  history.  The  gigantic  height 
of  him,  his  school-boy  geniality  and  the  fearlessness  of 
his  convictions,  were  so  strangely  combined  with  a  reck- 
less disregard  of  public  opinion  and  a  truly  perverse 
pride  in  outraging  it,  that  it  is  a  wonder  how  he  ever 
came  to  be  taken  seriously  at  all. 

His  celebrated  love  affair  as  a  youthful  diplomatist 
In  London  —  his  elopement  with  Lady  Ellenborough  — 
was  a  lesson  to  him  to  mend  his  ways;  it  was  not  long 
before  she  left  him  for  Baron  Venningen,  who,  in  his 
turn,  was  fated  to  learn  the  same  lesson  of  the  worthless- 
ness  of  such  intrigues  —  even  from  the  point  of  view  of 
a  transitory  happiness. 

71 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

Felix  Schwarzenberg,  from  the  accounts  of  those  who 
had  known  him,  must  have  been  endowed  with  the  rarest 
of  gifts  —  the  faculty  of  being  able  to  compel  the  love  of 
others  at  will,  whensoever  it  pleased  him  to  do  so;  in  a 
word,  magnetism.  One  of  his  most  ardent  admirers, 
Baron  Hiibner,  who  was  with  him  in  the  fighting  in 
Milan  in  March,  1848,  and  afterwards  in  Vienna  when 
the  revolution  was  put  down  by  Windisch-Griitz,  looked 
upon  Schwarzenberg  as  a  kind  of  demi-god!  Together 
they  made  their  way  in  an  open  cab  through  the  streets 
of  the  capital  to  where  Prince  Auersperg  with  a  hand- 
ful of  troops  —  some  nine  or  ten  thousand  men  in  all  — 
was  making  ready  to  retreat  from  the  city  and  to  join 
forces  with  Windisch-Gratz's  army,  then  about  to  storm 
Vienna  for  the  Emperor.  At  every  moment,  albeit  the 
cab  took  the  least  frequented  by-ways,  Hiibner  was  in 
expectation  of  an  attack  from  the  prowling  bands  of 
rebels,  the  same  students  and  workmen  who  had  been 
responsible  for  Count  Latour's  barbarous  murder  at  the 
War  Office.  The  cabdriver,  himself,  almost  refused  to 
proceed;  had  it  not  been  for  Schwarzenberg,  who  com- 
pelled him  by  force,  he  would,  doubtless,  have  turned 
back  long  before  bringing  them  to  their  destination.  As  it 
was,  they  got  through  in  saftey,  and  in  three  days  Schwar- 
zenberg was  back  in  Vienna  with  full  power  to  take  his 
revenge.  But,  in  spite  of  all  that  has  been  said  to  the 
contrary,  the  victors  were  not  so  vindictive  as  they  might 
have  been;  their  wrath  fell  only  upon  the  leaders  and 
not  on  the  misguided  mass  of  the  Viennese  populace. 
Considering     that     Windisch-Gratz's     wife  —  Princess 

72 


SOVEREIGNS,  TREATIES,  AND  TRADITIONS 

Marie  Schwarzenberg  —  had  been  killed  by  a  shot  from 
the  revolutionaries  a  short  while  earlier,  in  Prague,  her 
husband's  mildness  and  self-restraint  were  little  less  than 
wonderful  under  the  circumstances. 

But  I  am  digressing  from  my  subject,  that  of  the  tradi- 
tions of  the  Congress  of  Vienna  and  their  effects  upon 
the  men  and  politics  of  those  days.  If  the  great  treaties 
that  have  since  succeeded  it,  that  of  Vienna  in  1856,  of 
Nikolsburg  in  1866,  of  Versailles  in  1871,  and  of  Berlin 
in  1878,  are  responsible  for  great  changes  in  political 
geography,  they  have  had  far  less  influence  than  might 
be  supposed  upon  the  psychology  of  diplomacy  —  if  I  may 
be  allowed  the  use  of  such  an  expression.  To  this  day 
European  diplomacy  is  guided  rather  by  the  traditional 
policies  of  certain  men —  Metternich,  Bismarck,  Beacons- 
field,  and  Nesselrode  —  than  by  any  implicit  belief  in  the 
abiding  effect  of  treaties.  For,  as  has  been  so  clearly  and 
so  often  made  evident,  treaties  are  of  no  value  at  all 
in  comparison  with  the  tradition  and  traditional  sym- 
pathies and  ambitions  to  which  public  men  turn  instinct- 
ively for  guidance  at  all  times  of  stress  or,  most  espe- 
cially, of  opportunity  —  knowing  that,  at  the  worst,  and 
should  the  venture  prove  a  failure,  it  will  entail  no  official 
or  popular  disgrace,  because,  to  follow  in  the  footsteps 
of  a  nation's  great  dead,  even  mistakenly,  is  the  first  of 
claims  to  a  proud  and  grateful  people's  affection  and 
blind  support.  If  I  were  a  Minister  for  Foreign  Affairs 
in  any  difficulty,  I  think  I  should  be  guided  by  just  that 
maxim  —  there  being,  of  course,  no  question  involved  of 
any  wrongdoing  or  injustice:    "Do  what  the  national 

73 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

heroes  would  have  done  under  the  same  circumstances; 
even  if  it  turn  out  to  be  a  failure  you  will  do  nothing  but 
good.  Most  particularly,  you  will  strengthen  the  hand  of 
your  Government  at  home  —  and  intelligent  Govern- 
ments are  not  ungrateful !  " 

When  my  husband  was  stationed  in  Dresden,  for  in- 
stance, the  sympathies  of  the  Saxon  administration  were 
sharply  divided  upon  just  this  basis  of  tradition  in  regard 
to  France  and  the  threatened  revival  of  the  Napoleonic 
regime  under  Napoleon  III  —  the  predominance  of 
France  upon  the  Continent.  The  one  school,  that  of  the 
older  men,  who  in  their  youth  had  done  business  with 
the  great  man's  representatives  and  had  had  opportunity 
to  study  Napoleon  himself,  described  him  as  a  little  cad 
with  absolutely  no  manners;  these,  the  seniors,  were  the 
adherents,  body  and  soul,  of  the  principles  of  "  legitimate 
monarchy  "  as  determined  by  the  Congress  of  Vienna, 
and  the  bitterest  opponents  of  monarchical  "  parvenus  " 
such  as  Louis  Philippe  and  Louis  Napoleon  Bonaparte. 
The  other  party,  that  of  Baron  Beust,  who  had  imbibed 
the  opportunist  Austrian  doctrines  of  Felix  Schwarzen- 
berg,  could  see  only  one  thing  as  a  political  aim  —  the 
necessity  for  safeguarding  Austrian  supremacy  in  Germany 
and  for  the  checking  of  all  Prussian  attempts  to  challenge 
that  supremacy.  To  Beust  and  his  followers,  the  Aus- 
trian surrender  of  Lombardy  to  France,  after  Solferino, 
was  infinitely  preferable  to  the  acceptance  by  Austria 
of  Prussia's  offer  to  deter  Napoleon  III  from  further 
depredations  upon  Germany  by  moving  troops  against 
him  on  the  Rhine.    It  was  Beust,  who  later  left  the  Saxon 

74 


SOVEREIGNS,  TREATIES,  AND  TRADITIONS 

for  the  Austrian  Service  and,  as  Austrian  Minister  for 
Foreign  Affairs  in  the  July  of  1870,  wrote  to  the  French 
Government  on  the  outbreak  of  the  Franco-German  war 
that  "  Teutonic  effervescence  "  —  by  which  he  meant 
the  sympathy  felt  by  the  Austrian  people  at  large  for 
their  German  brothers  —  "  prevented  him  from  carry- 
ing out  his  intentions  of  supporting  France  and  compelled 
him,  not  without  reluctance,  to  declare  Austria  neutral." 

Talking  of  official  tradition,  however,  reminds  me 
irresistibly  of  an  occasion  in  our  own  diplomatic  service 
upon  which  its  dangers  were  as  clearly  demonstrated  as 
have  ever  been  its  advantages. 

It  was  in  the  summer  of  1878,  just  after  the  Berlin 
Congress  had  dissolved.  Its  work  was  accomplished 
to  all  intents  and  purposes,  and  all  that  there  remained 
to  do  was  to  exchange  the  ratification  of  its  terms  be- 
tween the  Governments  of  the  various  signatories. 
Until  this  exchange  of  ratifications  should  have  taken 
place,  it  was  impossible,  of  course,  for  the  terms  of  the 
treaty  to  be  made  public.  There  had  been  great  difficul- 
ties all  along  in  reconciling  the  many  conflicting  inter- 
ests of  the  contracting  powers,  notably  those  of  England 
and  Russia  as  represented  by  Lord  Beaconsfield  and 
Prince  Gortschakoff;  more  than  once  the  Congress  had 
been  on  the  point  of  breaking  up,  as  a  result  of  the  differ- 
ences between  those  two  great  men,  when  only  the  con- 
summate good  sense  and  tact  of  Prince  Bismarck  saved 
the  situation  and  intervened  to  avert  another  disastrous 
war.  Once,  indeed,  it  happened  that  the  maps  of  the 
plenipotentiaries   were   set   for  them,   with  their   other 

75 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

papers,  in  the  wrong  places  at  the  great  oval  table, 
through  the  stupidity  —  or  untimely  sense  of  humour  — 
of  some  subordinate  official.  The  consequence  was  that 
Lord  Beaconsfield  found  himself  examining  Prince 
Gortschakoff's  map  and  Prince  Gortschakoff,  Lord 
Beaconsfield's.  Now  on  Gortschakoff's  map  there  was 
marked  the  utmost  delimitation  of  territory  that  Russia 
would  concede,  and  on  Beaconsfield's  the  least  that 
England's  representative  was  authorised  to  accept  on 
behalf  of  her  protegee,  Turkey. 

The  result  may  be  imagined;  the  mutual  embarass* 
ment  and  the  decorous  fury  of  each  of  the  opponents 
on  thus  learning  the  extent  of  his  adversary's  designs. 
Lord  Beaconsfield  even  went  so  far  as  to  order  a  special 
train  to  take  him  on  his  way  home  and  was  only  dis- 
suaded from  his  purpose  by  Bismarck's  personal  influence. 

At  last,  however,  all  was  in  readiness  for  the  final 
act,  the  interchange  of  ratifications;  only  a  few  days 
more  and  the  negotiations  would  become  a  "  fait  ac- 
compli "  —  when  they  were  all  but  rendered  abortive 
by  what  is  known  as  the  M Case. 

It  had,  until  then,  been  customary  in  the  Foreign  Office 
in  London,  to  employ  *'  outside  help "  when  pressure 
of  business  demanded  some  lightening  of  the  burden  of 
extra  work  upon  the  shoulders  of  the  ordinary  staff  of 
clerks  employed  there.  In  this  instance  the  accumula- 
tion of  work  was  such  as  to  necessitate  this  means  of 
coping  with  it;    and  among  those  called  in  to  help  was 

a  young  man  of  the  name  of  M .     I  do  not  give 

his  name  in  full  because  he  may  be  still  alive;   also,  quite 

76 


SOVEREIGNS,  TREATIES,  AND  TRADITIONS 

possibly,  he  may  have  been  innocent  of  the  crime  for 
which  he  was  held  responsible. 

The  exchange  of  ratifications  was  to  take  place  on 
August  13,  1878;  the  utmost  secrecy  was  essential  in 
copying  the  form  of  ratification  from  the  treaty  itself; 
and  the  person  charged  with  this  very  responsible  task 

was  M .     I  do  not  remember  for  certain,  at  this 

moment,  but  I  believe  the  Foreign  Office  had  borrowed 
his  services  from  the  Postmaster  General. 

When  all  the  world  of  London  came  down  to  break- 
fast one  morning  in  those  weeks,  what  was  its  amaze- 
ment when  its  eyes  fell  upon  the  columns  of  a  certain 
paper  containing  the  exact  text  of  the  all-momentous 
treaty  —  some  days,  two  or  three,  before  it  could  have, 
any  possible  right  to  be  there! 

As  may  be  supposed,  there  was  consternation  in  offi- 
cial circles;  inquiries  followed  in  the  hour,  but  all  to  no 
avail.  The  thing  was  done;  the  newspaper  in  question 
had  made  an  undeniable  "  scoop,"  and  retribution,  swift 

and  relentless,  descended  upon  the  unhappy  M . 

His  defence  was  that  the  document  had  been  purloined 
from  his  desk  during  his  absence;  but  it  ended  in  his 
utter  downfall.  He  was  ruined  beyond  recovery;  and 
although  he  afterwards  published  a  pamphlet  to  prove 
his  innocence  of  selling  the  information,  as  he  was  ac- 
cused of  doing,  he  never  succeeded  in  rehabilitating 
himself. 

Since  then  the  tradition  of  employing  '*  outsiders  "  in 
the  Foreign  Office  has  been  abandoned.     I  have  often 

wondered  what  became  of  the  luckless  Mr.  M ;  if 

77 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

he  was  innocent,  as  he  may  well  have  been,  one  cannot 
help  being  sorry  for  him. 

And  now  to  return  to  Vienna  and  my  duty  to  my  in- 
dulgent reader  of  trying  to  record  the  further  impres- 
sions of  my  stay  there. 

We  had  not  long  been  established  in  our  apartment 
in  the  Karntner  Ring  when  the  festivities  in  connection 
with  the  Crown  Prince's  wedding  came  as  a  brilliant  finish 
to  the  season  of  1 880-1881.  I  have  written  of  these  in 
another  volume  and  will  pause  here  only  to  say  one  or 
two  things  which  I  feel  ought  to  be  said  in  regard  to  the 
tragedy  with  which  that  marriage  of  Crown  Prince 
Rudolph's  was  destined,  some  years  later,  to  terminate. 

In  the  first  place,  the  causes  that  ultimately  induced 
Archduke  Rudolph  to  destroy  himself  were  not  alto- 
gether, even  at  the  time  of  his  wedding,  unknown  to 
certain  people  in  Vienna;  at  all  Courts  there  are  persons 
with  long  memories  for  every  pitiful  scandal  —  and  still 
longer  tongues.  The  least,  most  human  transgressions 
of  crowned  heads  are  twisted  out  of  all  proportion,  and 
no  criminal  but  receives  more  mercy,  more  allowance  made 
for  temptation  than  those  same  rulers,  men  or  women. 
Of  late  there  have  been  constant  rumours  in  the  press 
of  more  than  one  country  to  the  effect  that  Emperor 
Francis  Joseph  will,  one  day,  make  known  to  the  world 
the  facts  in  connection  with  his  son's  death;  let  me  say 
at  once  that  that  is  impossible;  not  because  his  Majesty 
is  unacquainted  with  them,  but  because  he  is  a  father, 
an  anointed  sovereign,  and  a  Christian  gentleman. 

Secondly,  there  is  absolutely  no  truth  in  the  assertion 

78 


SOVEREIGNS,  TREATIES,  AND  TRADITIONS 

that  any  but  himself  laid  violent  hands  upon  Archduke 
Rudolph  on  the  night  of  his  death;  to  maintain  the 
contrary  is  to  maintain  a  diabolical  lie.  Nor,  besides 
the  Archduke  himseK,  was  any  gentlemen  even  present, 
that  night,  at  Mayerling,  save  only  his  brother-in-law, 
Prince  Philip  of  Coburg  (the  husband  of  his  wife's  un- 
fortunate sister)  and  Count  Hoyos,  who  brought  the 
news  of  the  tragedy  to  the  Empress  at  Vienna  the  next 
day.  Neither  Hoyos  nor  Philip  of  Coburg  set  eyes  on 
the  Archduke,  alive,  after  he  had  sent  down  word 
to  them  from  his  rooms  upstairs  to  the  effect  that  they 
were  to  excuse  him  from  joining  them  at  dinner.  They 
had  all  three  been  out  shooting  together,  and  the  Crown 
Prince  came  home  earlier  than  his  companions  to  Mayer- 
ling;  not  until  the  locked  door  of  his  bedroom  was 
broken  open,  the  next  morning,  between  seven  and  eight 
o'clock,  did  they  see  him  again  where  he  lay,  dead  by 
his  own  hand,  close  to  the  dead  girl  whom  he  had  loved 
not  wisely  but  too  well. 

And  of  Marie  Vetsera,  she  upon  whose  memory  so 
many  either  in  ignorance  or  in  their  own  vileness,  have 
seen  fit  to  cast  every  base  and  cowardly  aspersion,  I 
would  say  this :  —  however  lamentable  may  have 
been  her  one  poor  sin,  it  was  whiteness  itself  by  com- 
parison with  the  sin  of  those  who  have  taken  It  upon 
their  self-righteous  selves  to  be  her  accusers.  She  sinned, 
true;  yet  not  as  they  accuse  her  of  having  done,  shame- 
lessly and  for  love  of  sin,  but  as  the  hapless  great  lady 
that  she  was  —  with  no  thought  of  herself  but  only 
for  the  man  she  loved  so  mistakenly.     May  they  both 

79 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

have    found,    elsewhere,    that    mercy    denied    them    by 
men! 

Once  for  all,  let  the  public  put  the  whole  affair  out  of 
its  head,  in  favour  of  its  own  business;  and  let  those 
who,  unhappily  for  themselves,  have  come  by  any  knowl- 
edge of  the  truth,  place  upon  their  lips  the  seal  of  secrecy 
for  the  love  of  God  and  of  their  mothers  —  should  they 
chance  to  read  these  words,  I  feel  sure  they  will  under- 
stand and  that  they  will  grant  this  supplication  of  one 
who  remembers  Marie  in  the  flower  of  her  innocent  youth. 


80 


IV 

IN   POLISH   PRUSSIA 

A  Haunted  Country  and  a  Lonely  Ride  —  In  the  Tracks  of  the  Grand  Army  — 
The  *< Extra  Post"  —  Unexpected!  —  Italy  in  Prussia — A  Devout 
General  —  Church-going  under  Difficulties  —  A  Ghostly  Chair  —  The 
«<Starost's"  Boots — A  Consolable  Widower  —  The  Last  of  the  Old 
Guard — Polish  Poets  and  the  Polish  Jeanne  d'Arc  —  A  Family  of 
Exiles  —  Lord  Palmerston's  Prophecy  —  The  Foe  within  the  Gates. 

I  HAD  long  been  desirous  of  making  acquaintance  with 
my  sister  Annie's  home  in  West  Prussia  when  at  last 
the  chance  came  for  me  to  visit  her  there  early  one 
Spring,  some  years  after  the  death  of  her  husband  as  a 
result  of  the  wound  he  had  received  at  the  battle  of 
Gravelotte.  When  I  got  out  of  the  train  at  the  little 
wayside  station  of  Czerwinsk  it  was  late  at  night,  and, 
to  my  dismay,  the  telegram  I  had  sent  to  inform  Annie 
of  my  coming  had  apparently  miscarried,  for  there  was 
no  sign  of  any  one  to  meet  me  or  of  any  conveyance 
in  which  to  transport  me  —  to  say  nothing  of  my  effects 
—  over  the  mud-encumbered  miles  —  the  month  being 
February  and  the  season  an  early  one  —  to  Lesnian. 
After  laying  my  case  before  the  station  master  I  stood 
there  waiting  for  what  might  betide,  my  sympathies 
going  out  with  a  hitherto  unknown  comprehension  to  the 
unhappy  men  who  had  passed  that  way,  eighty  years 
before,   footsore  and  frozen  and  starving  In  the  great 

8i 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

retreat  from  Russia.  As  my  eyes  took  in  the  dreary,  roll- 
ing landscape  —  so  much  of  it  as  was  distinguishable  by 
the  light  of  the  waning,  watery  moon  —  the  picture  of  the 
stragglers  of  Napoleon's  army,  tramping  in  twos  and 
threes  through  the  dense  fir  woods  which  covered  the 
greater  part  of  Prussian  Poland  in  1812,  presented  itself 
to  my  imagination  with  startling  vividness.  I  remembered 
the  stories  my  brother-in-law  had  been  wont  to  tell  us  of 
how,  in  his  wanderings  through  these  same  woods,  he 
had  often  come  across  relics  of  those  who  had  fallen  by 
the  way  on  that  terrific  march;  uniform  buttons  of  brass 
bearing  the  Imperial  eagle,  all  corroded  with  time  and 
weather  and  partly  hidden  by  the  sand  drifts  of  eighty 
years.  Bones,  too,  not  a  few,  had  sometimes  come  to 
light  in  the  same  way;  on  one  occasion  my  nephew,  Fritz 
von  Rabe,  had  stumbled  upon  a  whole  skeleton  not  far 
from  the  house  itself  at  Lesnian,  —  that  of  a  drummer- 
boy,  as  they  supposed,  by  the  size.  The  strangest  thing, 
however,  to  my  mind,  about  the  retreat  of  the  Grand 
Army  is  the  comparatively  small  mortality  among  such  of 
the  soldiers  composing  it  as  were  natives  of  southern 
Europe — the  Italians,  especially,  the  Tuscans  of  Eugene's 
corps  and  Murat's  Neapolitans  —  owing,  as  one  cannot 
but  fancy,  to  the  accumulated  sun-warmth  in  their  blood. 
I  had  not  long  to  wait,  however,  before  I  was  informed 
that  I  could  have  an  "  Extra  Post."  This  meant  paying 
extra  for  the  station  omnibus  —  an  ancient  travelling 
carriage,  as  it  proved  eventually  —  to  be  placed  at  my 
disposal.  Into  it  I  got,  therefore,  and  was  presently 
being  borne  along  at  a  foot's  pace  towards  my  destina- 

82 


IN    POLISH    PRUSSIA 

tion.  The  carriage,  which  must  have  dated  from  the 
time  of  the  retreat  of  the  Grand  Army  itself,  creaked 
and  swung  ominously  with  every  turn  of  the  crazy  wheels; 
above  my  head  were  great  nets  intended  for  baggage, 
but  full  of  dim,  rolling  objects  which  resembled  nothing 
so  much  as  forgotten  skulls.  The  driver  swore  and 
grumbled  at  his  horses  in  his  burring  Polish  all  the  way; 
the  ghostly  moon  shone  on  great  flats  of  water  on  each 
side  of  the  road  and  after  a  little  while  my  imagination 
assured  me  that  I  was  being  driven  to  my  death  and  a 
nameless  funeral.  Never  in  my  life  have  I  encountered 
anything  quite  so  dreary  as  the  interior  of  that  venerable 
"  Eilwagen."  Completely  dark  save  for  a  fitful  shaft 
of  moonlight,  and  moldy  with  the  damp  of  ages,  it  might 
have  been  the  identical  vehicle  in  which  Queen  Louisa 
escaped  to  Konigsberg  in  the  sad  days  after  Jena,  so 
replete  was  it  with  phantastic  associations  of  the  past. 
Mile  after  mile  went  by  for  me  in  momentary  expecta- 
tion of  finding  myself  confronted  by  some  shadowy 
neighbour  with  a  remark  as  to  the  outcome  of  our  flight 
from  the  pursuing  French  —  for,  indeed,  I  had  fallen 
asleep,  worn  out  with  the  journey  from  Berlin,  Sud- 
denly I  was  awakened  by  the  furious  barking  of  many 
dogs.  A  gate  was  opened,  and  a  few  moments  later  a 
lamp  was  held  out  of  a  window  and  a  very  angry  femin- 
ine voice  —  that  of  my  sister  —  demanded  of  my  driver 
what  he  meant  by  creating  such  an  uproar  at  that  hour 
of  the  night. 

It  was  several  minutes  before  I  could  make  myself 
heard  amidst  the  din;    when  at  last  I  did  so,  my  sister 

83 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

came  flying  down  the  steps  to  greet  me:  —  "  MImo,  is  it 
you?  Where  on  earth  have  you  fallen  from?  I  thought 
you  were  in  London!  " 

And  so  saying,  she  led  me  into  the  great  house  and 
down  what  seemed  an  interminable  succession  of  corri- 
dors to  her  own  part  of  it.  This  wing,  as  I  knew  already, 
was  called  the  "  Pavilion."  To  reach  it  we  had  to  pass, 
finally,  through  a  large  greenhouse  which  admitted  us 
into  a  high,  dim  room,  where  every  inch  of  bracket  or  table 
space  seemed  filled  with  some  object  of  interest  or  art. 
It  was  not  until  the  next  day,  however,  that  I  really  made 
acquaintance  with  the  room  in  detail;  that  night,  late  as 
it  was,  we  sat  and  talked  until  I,  at  least,  could  talk  no 
more,  and  then  Annie  escorted  me  back  to  the  main 
building,  in  which  a  couple  of  rooms  had  been  hastily 
prepared  for  my  reception.  Except  in  Italy,  I  do  not 
think  I  have  ever  seen  rooms  of  such  a  size  in  a  private 
house;  vast  parquetted  spaces  across  which  our  foot- 
steps rang  loud  and  rather  lonesomely.  These  rooms 
possessed  one  especial  feature,  with  which  I  fell  in  love 
on  the  spot  —  a  quantity  of  lithograph  portraits  of  by- 
gone Prussian  celebrities  of  the  thirties  and  forties  of 
the  nineteenth  century.  There  was  old  King  Frederick 
William  III  and  his  son,  Frederick  William  the  Fourth, 
with  the  latter's  wife,  Elizabeth  of  Bavaria;  also  Rabes, 
Schencks,  and  others  of  the  family  and  its  relations.  The 
curtains  were  still  looped  up  beside  the  great  windows 
looking  over  the  white,  silent  grounds  beneath  their  cover- 
let of  snow  down  to  the  little  frozen  lake  overhung  with 
trees.     To  me  who  had  never  been  in  the  real  North 

84 


IN    POLISH    PRUSSIA 

before,  It  was  all  irresistible,  reminiscent  of  something 
out  of  Tolstoy's  "  War  and  Peace."  For  the  first  time 
in  my  life  the  spell  of  the  northern  plain  of  Europe 
began  to  acquire  a  hold  upon  me  with  its  thousand  asso- 
ciations of  Hun  and  Slav,  its  memories  of  almost  countless 
invasions  and  wars,  from  those  of  Attila  to  those  of 
Frederick  the  Great  and  Napoleon,  from  the  slaughter 
and  wild  confusion  of  ancient  warfare  to  those  of 
Jagerndorff  and  Eylau ! 

The  following  morning  I  spent  with  Annie  in  her  sit- 
ting-room in  the  "  Pavilion,"  renewing  memories  of  the 
old  days  in  Italy,  back  to  which  indeed  everything  in  the 
room  itself  conspired  to  recall  them,  from  the  familiar 
painting  of  the  red  Pope,  as  we  used  to  call  a  very  fine 
duplicate  of  Velasquez's  Julius  II,  to  the  delicious 
Roman  bronzes  and  knicknacks  scattered  on  every  hand. 
By  degrees,  however,  we  veered  round  to  the  subject  of 
Annie  and  her  own  immediate  surroundings.  The 
history  of  the  "  Pavilion  "  itself  was  strange  enough. 

Many  years  before,  when  Erich's  parents  had  been 
taking  the  waters  one  summer  at  Teplitz  or  Marienbad, 

they  made  the  acquaintance  of  a  General ,  a  lonely 

bachelor  with  some  proficiency  upon  the  guitar.  The 
acquaintance  ripened  into  intimacy,  and  towards  the  end 
of  their  stay  at  the  Kur  the  General  unbosomed  himself 
of  his  history.  He  had  passed  his  life  in  the  service  of 
the  King  of  Naples  and  had  retired  upon  a  pension;  he 
had  no  one  belonging  to  him  in  the  world  and  would 
beg  a  favour  —  might  he  be  allowed  to  build  himself  a 
small  dwelling  near  that  of  the  Rabes  in  West  Prussia, 

85 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

and  there  spend  the  rest  of  his  days  with  them,  if  it  were 
not  asking  too  much  of  their  friendship?  To  this  they 
consented,  and  the  General  accompanied  them  to  Les- 
nian  where  he  built  the  "  Pavilion  "  as  a  wing  on  to  the 
house,  and  installed  himself  there  with  his  possessions. 

Imbued  with  the  religious  fervour  of  southern  Italy  — 
he  himself  was  a  Swiss,  I  fancy  —  the  General  began  by 
repairing  on  the  first  Sunday  to  the  village  church,  the 
quaintest  of  medieval  fanes,  its  walls  of  stone  a  yard 
thick,  low  roofed,  and  ornamented,  if  I  remember  rightly, 
with  bright  green  flags  taken  from  the  Turks  in  the  old 
wars  of  John  Sobieski.  I  do  not  know  for  how  many 
Sundays  his  courage  sustained  him  in  the  performance 
of  his  duties;  but  at  length  he  was  forced  to  relinquish 
his  attendance  there.  The  congregation  consisted  en- 
tirely of  Polish  peasants  and  there  was  literally  not  room 
to  turn  round.  Now  the  Polish  peasant  is  not  by  nature 
given  to  habits  of  personal  cleanliness,  nor  are  long  ser- 
mons preached  in  the  vulgar  tongue  particularly  inter- 
esting to  an  elderly  foreign  officer  who  does  not  under- 
stand a  word  of  it.  In  Lent,  too,  the  congregation  is  in  the 
habit  of  singing  the  entire  High  Mass  through  in  Polish 
without  the  help  of  instrumental  music.  As  the  Mass 
lasts  nearly  two  hours  and  every  one  stands  up  the  whole 
time,  the  fatigue  of  body  and  the  splitting  headache 
that  result  to  the  amateur  may  better  be  imagined  than 
described. 

So  the  General  was  compelled,  reluctantly,  to  turn  his 
devotion  into  other  channels;  to  atone  for  not  going  to 
church,  therefore,  he  had  a  quantity  of  wayside  shrines 

86 


IN    POLISH    PRUSSIA 

put  up  for  the  edification  of  the  peasants.  The 
strangest  part,  however,  of  what  Annie  told  me  about 
him  was  not  concerned  with  his  doings  in  life,  but  his 
manifestations  of  activity  after  death  —  for  such,  at 
least,  they  seemed  to  be.  Towards  the  end  of  his  days 
he  had  taken  to  using  an  invalid  chair  in  which  he  could 
propel  himself  about  without  help  from  other  people. 
When  he  was  dead,  this  chair  was  relegated  to  the  attic 
where  it  remained  undisturbed  for  years,  until  Erich  and 
Annie  took  up  their  quarters  as  a  young  married  couple 
in  the  "  Pavilion." 

From  time  to  time  they  began  to  notice,  either  very 
early  at  night  or  else  towards  dawn,  unaccountable  noises 
overhead.  These  sounded  like  the  rumbling  of  wheels, 
now  fast,  now  slow,  over  the  boards  of  the  attic.  Once, 
indeed,  to  Annie's  consternation,  she  heard  the  wheels 
advance  with  a  sudden  furious  rush  to  the  head  of  the 
stairway  leading  from  the  attic  down  to  her  bedroom 
door;  there  something  seemed  to  check  and  push  them 
back.  She  and  her  husband  were  not  the  only  people 
thus  disturbed;  the  servants  complained  repeatedly  of 
the  activity  of  the  General's  wheel  chair,  although  my 
sister  only  laughed  at  such  a  notion.  To  her  amaze- 
ment, one  morning  after  the  rumblings  had  been  partic- 
ularly uproarious  in  the  night,  the  cook  came  to  her  with 
a  broad  smile. 

"  Ah,  gnadlge  Frau,"  she  began,  "  do  you  remember 
how  we  told  you  we  were  sure  the  noises  came  from  the 
General's  chair?  If  you  will  come  upstairs  with  me  I 
should  like  to  show  you  something." 

87 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

Wondering  what  was  going  to  follow,  Annie  did  as  she 
was  asked  and  together  they  ascended  to  the  attic. 

"  There,  gnadige  Frau  —  what  do  you  think  of  that?  " 
asked  the  cook,  triumphantly  pointing  to  the  floor. 

"  What  is  this  ?  "  demanded  Annie  half  angrily ;  for  the 
place  was  covered  with  flour,  across  which,  back  and 
forth,  ran  wide  traces  as  of  wheels,  in  every  conceivable 
pattern!  The  General's  chair,  too,  was  thick  with  the 
stuff  —  at  least,  the  wheels  were. 

"  Well,  to  tell  you  the  truth  we  thought  we  would 
really  find  out  whether  the  chair  was  to  blame  or  not; 
so,  last  night,  we  put  this  down,"  indicating  the  flour. 
"  You  see  how  it  is,  gnadige  Frau  —  there  is  no  fraud 
about  It;  yours  and  mine  are  the  only  footprints  in  the 
room." 

After  that  Annie  had  to  surrender  at  discretion,  but  the 
General's  chair  was  securely  tied  up  and  no  further 
disturbances  ensued. 

In  some  ways  the  peasants  of  Prussian  Poland  struck 
me  as  having  less  respect  for  the  dead  than  might  have 
been  expected  of  so  sincerely  religious  a  people.  In  the 
neighbouring  town  of  Marienwerder,  attached  to  one  of 
the  churches,  was  an  ancient  burial  vault,  easily  accessi- 
ble to  the  general  public.  In  this  vault,  owing  to  some 
quality  of  the  air,  the  bodies  placed  there  had  become 
completely  mummified,  as  though  they  had  been  embalmed. 
In  the  course  of  time  —  the  place  had  not  been  used  for 
purposes  of  sepulture  for  many  years  —  several  of  the 
cofiins  had  fallen  to  pieces  and  the  bodies  they  sheltered 
lay  exposed  to  view.     Among  these  was  that  of  an  old- 

88 


IN    POLISH    Pl^USSIA 

time  Polish  "  Starost,"  a  country  magnate  of  the  seven- 
teenth century,  dressed  in  all  the  splendour  of  the  national 
costume,  from  the  fur-lined  cap  to  the  tasselled  gloves 
and  the  short  boots  of  softest,  untanned  doe  skin.  These 
boots,  I  learned,  disappeared  from  time  to  time  and  then 
returned,  as  by  magic,  to  their  owner.  The  riddle  of 
their  vanishing  remained  a  mystery  until  it  was  discovered 
that  the  younger  dandies  among  the  peasants  were  in 
the  habit  of  borrowing  the  "  Starost's  "  smart  boots  to 
dance  in  on  holidays  and  festival  occasions  generally  — 
always  restoring  his  property  to  the  old  fellow  with 
scrupulous  exactitude  and  many  thanks  for  the  loan  of 
them. 

Talking  of  boots  reminds  me  of  another  occasion, 
when  the  wife  of  one  of  the  peasants  at  Lesnian  had 
died  and  been  buried  with  every  mark  of  sympathy  from 
the  "  Herrschaft  "  for  her  sorrowing  husband,  an  elderly 
man,  who  appeared  quite  broken  down  under  his  loss. 
Everybody  attended  the  funeral  and  nothing  was  left 
undone  to  comfort  the  inconsolable  widower. 

On  the  evening  of  the  day  of  his  wife's  interment  he 
presented  himself  at  the  house  and  asked  to  see  Frau 
von  Rabe,  saying  that  he  had  a  favour  to  ask.  Instantly 
he  was  ushered  in  and  was  begged  to  state  his  wishes  — 
was  there  anything  she  could  do  to  lessen  his  affliction? 

"  Gnadige  Frau,  the  truth  is,"  he  began,  turning  his  hat 
round  nervously  in  his  fingers,  "  that  I  have  come  to  — 
to  ask  leave  to  get  married  again.     You  see  —  " 

*'  But  good  gracious !  Of  course  you  may,  when  the 
time  comes." 

89 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

"  Yes,  but  —  but  I  want  to  marry  now,  to-night. 
It  is  like  this  —  " 

"  What  on  earth  do  you  mean?  Why,  your  wife  was 
only  buried  this  morning!  Surely  you  cannot  be 
serious?  " 

"  Indeed  I  am,  gnadige  Frau !  As  I  was  saying, 
it 's  like  this  —  how  am  I  going  to  go  to  bed  with  my 
boots  on?  And  unless  I  marry  who  is  to  pull  them  off 
for  me?  I  could  n't  do  it  myself  however  hard  I  tried," 
—  pointing     to     his     tight-fitting     top-boots  —  "so      I 

have  spoken  to ,  and  she  is  willing  to  marry  me 

at  once  —  this  minute  —  if  only  you  will  give  us 
permission !  " 

This  is  absolutely  true  —  even  if  it  does  seem 
incredible ! 

The  old  General's  would  seem  not  to  have  been  the 
only  restless  spirit  at  Lesnian.  One  summer's  day,  some 
years  before  my  visit,  Annie  had  been  driving  along  the 
highway  to  Czerwinsk,  her  thoughts,  as  it  chanced,  anx- 
iously working  around  some  problem  of  her  daily  life, 
when,  suddenly,  she  became  dimly  aware  of  some  one 
walking  in  her  direction  along  the  green  border  on  the 
other  side  of  the  road.  The  time  was  about  eleven 
o'clock  in  the  morning  and  the  day  itself  one  of  brilliant 
sunshine.  Lifting  her  eyes  which  had  been  cast  down, 
she  let  them  rest  on  the  approaching  figure,  as  yet  some 
distance  away  from  her.  The  first  thing  that  struck  her 
as  odd  about  it  was  its  manner  of  progress;  it  seemed  to 
be  about  a  foot  above  the  ground  and  to  be  gliding 
towards  her  without  any  movement  of  the  limbs.    "  How 

90 


IN    POLISH    PRUSSIA 

very  extraordinary!  "  she  thought;  and  then,  as  the  figure 
came  nearer  to  her,  she  rubbed  her  eyes,  thinking  she 
must  be  the  victim  of  a  delusion.  For  she  was  staring 
at  a  tall,  haggard  man  in  the  high  bear-skin  shako  and 
the  blue  uniform,  with  its  white  cross  belts,  of  an  old- 
time  grenadier  of  Napoleon's  Guard.  Inconceivably  ill 
and  miserable  the  man  looked  as  he  returned  her  glance, 
and  in  that  second  he  was  gone,  vanished  into  thin  air, 
leaving  Annie  to  gaze  confounded  at  the  place  where  he 
had  been! 

The  people  on  my  brother-in-law's  estate  were  as 
different  from  their  German  landlords  as  they  could  well 
be.  The  Germans,  indeed,  were  strangers  in  a  strange 
land,  speaking  no  tongue  but  their  own,  and  having  no 
sympathies  for  any  but  German  methods  and  German 
traditions;  and  this  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  they  had 
been  there  for  a  long  time,  comparatively  speaking;  for 
all  that  part  of  Poland  fell  to  Frederick  the  Great  at 
the  first  partition  of  the  country,  in  1772.  Indeed,  the 
greater  number  of  the  Polish  people  at  present  under 
German  rule  would  probably  —  if  the  question  were  al- 
lowed to  go  by  popular  vote  —  be  found  to  prefer  the 
Russians  for  their  masters  rather  than  the  Germans. 
Teuton  and  Slav  will  never  amalgamate,  and  there  is 
consequently  something  to  be  said  (from  the  present  point 
of  view)  for  the  action  of  the  Prussian  Government 
in  what  is  known  as  the  "  Prussification  of  Prussian 
Poland."  But  the  experiment  of  planting  Germans  upon 
Polish  soil  has  proved  a  doubtful  success. 

91 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

Long  before  my  visit  to  Lesnian  I  had  met  and  known 
fairly  well  a  good  many  Poles  at  one  time  and  another, 
but,  for  me,  the  name  of  their  country  was  always  and  is 
still  indentified  with  the  sorrow  of  exiles.  Ever  since 
I  can  remember  anything  at  all  it  has  been  the  same. 
Already,  during  my  earliest  days  in  Rome,  the  tide  of 
political  fugitives  had  long  been  pouring  in  from  Poland; 
indeed,  it  had  begun  as  far  back  as  1831  after  the  first 
ill-starred  Polish  revolt  against  Russia,  bringing  with  it, 
among  others,  the  poets,  Mickiewicz  and  Krasinski. 
This  was  long  before  my  time,  but  there  were  many 
people  in  the  Rome  of  my  childhood  who  had  known 
both  poets  during  the  greater  part  of  their  lives. 
Mickiewicz's  history,  especially,  is  like  something  out  of 
the  legends  of  his  country,  sublimely  tragic  and  almost 
distressingly  mysterious  —  the  history  of  a  man  born  to 
unusual  suffering  and  for  the  possession  of  whose  soul 
mighty  forces  did  battle  with  each  other. 

If  for  no  other  reason  than  that  of  being  unable 
to  enjoy  Mickiewicz's  writings  in  his  own  tongue,  I  re- 
gret my  inability  to  read  Polish;  particularly  his 
"  Grazyna  "  in  which  he  tells  the  adventures  of  a  chief- 
tainess  of  ancient  Lithuania  and  her  struggles  against 
the  invaders  of  her  beloved  primeval  forests,  the  Teu- 
tonic Knights.  I  wonder  if,  as  has  been  said,  it  was  the 
reading  of  "  Grazyna  "  which  inspired  his  country-woman 
Emilia  Plater,  the  Polish  Jeanne  d'Arc,  who  fought  so 
desperately  on  the  side  of  the  Revolutionaries  in  1831 
and  was  buried  by  her  companions-in-arms  in  the  heart 
of  those  same  Lithuanian  forests?     And,   speaking  of 

92 


IN    POLISH    PRUSSIA 

Poland  and  her  misfortunes,  I  cannot  help  hoping  that 
the  opinion  of  Lord  Palmerston  as  to  the  probability  of 
the  ultimate  restoration  of  the  Polish  kingdom  may 
prove  correct.  The  truth  would  seem  to  be  that,  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  the  Poles  are  the  least  Slav  of  all  the 
Slav  nations  —  if  not  ethnographically,  then,  at  least,  in 
all  their  ways  of  thought  and  conduct  of  life.  They  are 
really,  socially  speaking,  more  like  the  Austrians  than 
the  Russians;  and  the  Austrian,  for  all  he  may  some- 
times assert  to  the  contrary,  is  at  least  half  a  Latin. 
Certainly,  there  was  never  an  unwiser  people  than  the 
Poles  in  the  matter  of  politics.  They  seem  never  to  have 
known,  if  I  may  use  a  homely  phrase,  on  which  side  their 
bread  was  buttered.  From  Napoleon's  time,  when  they 
gave  their  all  for  the  man  who  was  always  ready  to  sell 
them  at  a  moment's  notice  at  the  price  of  a  month's 
armistice  in  time  of  need,  down  to  the  miserable  mis- 
takes of  the  rising  of  1831  (when  they  had  not  one 
single  serious  complaint  against  their  ruler,  the  Grand 
Duke  Constantine,  who  had  married  a  Pole  for  honest 
love  of  her  and  openly  said  of  himself  that  he  was  more 
Pole  than  Russian),  there  is  not  a  blunder  they  have  not 
committed.    Good  luck  to  them ! 

It  was,  of  course,  in  1863  ^"<^  1864  that  the  last  great 
influx  of  Poles  into  Italy  began;  and  the  fugitives  were 
almost  entirely  members  of  that  lesser  nobility  which 
had  been  primarily  responsible  for  the  recent  insurrec- 
tion. Never,  by  the  way,  were  human  beings  in  a  more 
difficult  position  than  the  nobles  of  Poland  during  the 
revolt  of  1863.     Owing  to  orders  from  Petersburg  they 

93 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

were  compelled  to  remain  on  their  estates  and  were  held 
responsible  for  any  disorder  among  their  peasants;  and 
failure  to  obey  these  orders  was  accounted  to  them  as 
a  participation  in  the  rebellion,  the  punishment  for  which 
varied  from  death  to  banishment.  On  the  other  hand, 
if  the  luckless  nobles  carried  out  their  instructions  they 
became,  naturally,  the  special  mark  of  the  insurgents; 
and  on  more  than  one  occasion  the  Russian  troops  found 
some  such  unfortunate  gentleman  hanging  by  the  neck 
amid  the  wreckage  of  his  own  drawing-room ! 

And  yet  no  one  can  say  of  the  Emperor  Alexander  II 
that  he  did  not  do  everything  in  his  power  to  prevent 
the  rebellion  by  every  possible  concession  to  Polish  pride 
of  nationality.  Once  the  revolt  had  broken  out  there 
was  no  resource  left  to  the  Russian  Government  but 
that  of  brute  force.  And  to  this  end  Berg  and 
Muravieff  and  Bezack  were  given  dictatorial  power  in 
Poland,  Lithuania,  Volhynia,  Podolla,  and  even  as  far 
as  the  Ukraine  —  over  the  whole  of  which  vast  terri- 
tory the  storm  was  raging. 

Poland  —  Polen  —  Polska  —  with  how  varying  an 
Inflection  does  the  name  fall  upon  the  ear  as  uttered  in 
English  or  in  German  or  in  the  national  tongue  itself! 

Of  all  the  Poles  from  whom  I  received  an  abiding  im- 
pression of  the  sorrows  of  their  country,  the  most  typical 
were  a  family  called  Kenievitch.  The  Kenievitches  were 
members  of  that  same  lesser  Polish  nobility  against 
which  had  been  directed  the  especial  harshness  of  the 
German-Russian  Lleutenant-General  of  Poland,  Count 
Berg,  the  veteran  of  Borodino,  in  his  suppression  of  the 

94 


IN    POLISH    PRUSSIA 

outbreak  of  1863.  (One  cannot  help  wondering  whether 
Tolstoy,  whose  dislike  of  Germans  was  so  virulent,  may 
not  have  had  this  same  personage  —  a  little  older  for 
the  purposes  of  the  story,  of  course,  than  he  actually  was 
at  the  time  —  in  the  "Berg"  of  "War  and  Peace.") 
The  Kenievitches,  who  had  roamed  Europe  for  years 
as  exiles  from  their  native  land,  had  settled  in  an 
apartment  in  Rome,  early  in  the  eighties.  I  do 
not  think  I  was  ever  in  any  "  atmosphere  "  at  once  so 
sad  and  so  attractive.  The  whole  family  (consisting 
of  old  Monsieur  Kenievitch,  his  wife,  her  sister,  and  his 
granddaughter  Katinka,  a  child  of  fourteen),  although 
naturally  under  a  cloud,  were  yet  serenely  resigned  to 
their  misfortunes  in  their  absolute  assurance  as  to  the 
ultimate  resurrection  of  their  country  —  as  it  were  with 
that  dauntless  gaiety  of  certain  mortally  stricken  invalids 
which  is  always  so  pathetic  in  its  gallantry.  In  their 
small  hired  dwelling,  with  its  few  treasures  and  relics 
of  the  past,  one  seemed  to  breathe  the  air  of  some  ancient 
Polish  manor  in  the  wilds  of  Suwalki  or  Radom  rather 
than  of  the  modernised  Rome  of  the  eighties. 

At  that  time  the  Kenievitches  were,  perhaps,  less 
bitterly  inclined  than  were  some  of  their  compatriots 
towards  their  Russian  conquerors;  for  Katinka's  older 
sister  had  married  a  Russian  official  who,  however,  after- 
wards gave  the  Kenievitches  good  reason  to  detest  his 
name  and  nationality  by  alienating  his  wife's  sympathies 
almost  completely  —  as  was  inevitable  —  from  her 
family.  We  are  told  that  we  cannot  serve  two  masters; 
and  the  truth  of  this  was  indicated  only  too  forcibly  in 

95 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

the  case  of  Vanda  Kenievitch.  I  do  not  know  whether 
she  adhered,  after  marriage,  to  the  faith  of  her  fathers 
or  not;  but  when  she  was  dead  her  husband  succeeded 
in  getting  possession,  not  only  of  her  property  in 
Poland,  but  very  nearly  of  Katinka's  as  well,  through 
his  influence  with  the  Russian  Government.  When  last 
I  heard  of  Katinka  she  was  on  the  point  of  becoming  a 
naturalised  Italian  in  order  to  save  herself  from  the 
extradition  proceedings  with  which  her  brother-in-law 
was  attempting  to  get  her  into  his  power  and  so  compel 
her  consent  to  his  administration  of  the  remnant  of  her 
patrimony. 

But  of  all  the  Poles  I  ever  knew  I  think  the  Galician 
*'  notables  "  one  met  in  Vienna  were  about  the  fiercest 
partisans  of  their  less  fortunate  brethren  across  the 
German  and  Russian  frontiers.  In  Austria,  as  is  well 
known,  the  Poles  of  Galicia  are  among  the  staunchest 
and  most  devoted  subjects  of  the  Crown;  but  to  such  an 
extent  did  their  national  hatred  prevail  over  all  other 
considerations  that  when  the  "  Drei  Kaiserbund "  — 
the  alliance  of  the  three  Emperors  (of  Austria,  Russia, 
and  Germany)  — expired  in  1887,  it  was  found  impos- 
sible to  renew  it  owing  to  the  opposition  of  the  Polish 
element  in  Austria,  which  was  unfortunate,  as  one  can- 
not help  thinking,  in  the  interests  of  the  world  at 
large,  which  needs  just  that  union  of  the  great  standing 
armies  in  order  to  hold  in  check  the  tide  of  liberalism 
and  so  dissipate  openly  the  sick  illusions  of  too  many 
dreamers  —  not  to  mention  the  aspirations  of  the 
materialists  in  Poland  itself.     For,  as  they  must  them- 

96 


IN    POLISH    PRUSSIA 

selves  admit,  the  best  among  the  Poles  —  the  clergy, 
the  nobles,  the  native  land-owners,  and  the  members  of 
the  learned  professions  —  have  always  had  to  contend 
in  their  struggle  for  national  independence  and  religious 
freedom  with  the  indifference  or  hostility  of  the  peas- 
ants and  the  fatal  love  of  money  of  the  business  and 
commercial  classes  —  in  which  that  same  love  of  money 
is  often  greater  than  the  love  of  country,  king,  or  faith. 
Indeed,  it  is  among  the  members  of  the  business  and 
commercial  classes  that  Poland  finds  her  most  danger- 
ous enemies  —  the  Jewish  element  of  the  population  — 
to  whom  the  very  thought  of  a  Polish  nation  is  almost 
as  hateful  as  that  of  Christianity  itself.  If  ever  Poland 
is  to  regain  her  national  sovereignty  —  as  Lord  Pal- 
merston  on  his  death-bed  declared  must,  sooner  or  later, 
inevitably  be  the  case  —  she  must  first  of  all  take  meas- 
ures against  the  Jews  within  her  borders;  measures, 
that  is,  not  of  "  Progrom  "  (which  can  never  serve  any 
good  end),  but  of  genuine,  restraining  justice.  Unhap- 
pily for  Poland  —  as  a  whole,  and  that  not  merely  a 
geographical  expression  —  she  Is  in  much  the  position 
of  certain  other  (and  decadent)  nations  in  which  the 
military  virtues  have  been  stifled  by  commercialism. 
Unlike  those  nations,  however,  she  has  within  her  an 
undying  impulse  toward  better  things  —  things  spiritual 
and  ideal  —  thanks  to  her  glorious  traditions,  her  aspira- 
tions, her  religious  faith,  and  the  rigours  of  her  climate; 
the  whole  combining  to  form  as  it  were  the  preserving 
salt  without  which  no  nation  or  community  can  success- 
fully combat  social  and  political  decay. 

97 


V 

TYRANTS,    SOLDIERS,    AND   SAILORS 

Villa  Sforza  Cesarini  and  the  Duke  of  My  Day  —  An  Obscure  Victim  —  The 
Sforza  Line  —  Lady  Fraser  and  a  Little  Girl's  Terrors  of  "Boney '*  in 
1804 — Sir  John  at  Eton  —  Sir  George  Nugent  —  A  Duel  at  Sea  —  A 
Scottish  Grand  Vizier  —  The  Strange  Case  of  Doctor  Bums  —  Simon 
Fraser,  the  Brigadier — An  Epidemic  of  Bogeys  —  Uncle  Sam's  Last 
Journey  —  General  de  Sonnaz  —  Admiral  Caracciolo  —  Where  Nelson 
Was  not  Great  —  The  Dead  Admiral  Demands  Christian  Burial. 

IN  the  spring  of  1882  we  left  Vienna,  Hugh  having 
been  appointed,  at  his  own  request,  to  the  Embassy 
in  Rome.  We  felt  that  before  very  long  the  ordinary 
course  of  promotion  would  send  us  far  away  from 
Europe,  and  I  wanted  to  be  near  my  own  people  for  a 
time  before  that  should  happen.  The  one  great  ques- 
tion of  the  spring  in  Rome  is,  "  Where  shall  we  go  for 
the  summer?"  My  husband  could  not  move  far  from 
the  Embassy,  where  he  would  be  needed  to  replace  Sir 
Augustus  Paget  who,  of  course,  would  utilise  the  hot 
months  to  take  his  vacation  in  England.  Finally  we 
decided  on  the  Villa  Sforza  Cesarini  at  Genzano,  a  place 
that  I  remembered  lovingly  for  its  beauty  and  peace,  in 
spite  of  having  passed  through  a  long  and  trying  illness 
there  as  a  child.  My  dear  people  were  to  share  the  huge 
house  with  us,  and  in  June  we  moved  out  with  servants, 
goods,  and  chattels,  and  installed  ourselves  in  the  great 

98 


TYRANTS,    SOLDIERS,   AND   SAILORS 

grey  palazzo   among  the   deep   chestnut  woods   of  the 
Alban  Hills. 

One  of  the  especial  charms  of  those  hills  is  that  you 
can  drive  from  your  own  door  in  Rome  to  the  door  of 
your  summer  home  without  getting  out  of  the  carriage, 
by  far  the  most  pleasant  way  of  travelling  after  all.  The 
Roman  nobles  of  the  earlier  ages  saw  the  advantage  of 
having  a  stronghold  within  view  of  the  city;  they  could 
fly  to  the  stronghold  when  the  city  became  too  hot  to 
hold  them;  they  could  swoop  down  on  the  city  by  one 
hour's  hard  riding  when  they  were  In  the  mood  for  fun  or 
fighting.  Their  children  were,  as  a  rule,  brought  up  in 
the  country,  even  as  almost  all  Roman  children  of  the 
middle  and  lower  classes  are  sent  there  now  for  the  first 
two  or  three  years  of  their  lives.  The  Romans  of  my 
youth  were,  however,  very  little  interested  in  their  splen- 
did old  country  places.  They  were  terrible  cockneys  in 
their  love  of  the  crowds  and  bustle  of  town,  and  only 
visited  the  "  Castello "  (as  every  mountain  village  Is 
still  called)  when  for  one  reason  or  another  it  was  im- 
possible to  seek  some  fashionable  distant  resort  for  the 
late  summer  months,  when  Rome  itself  is  Insupportably 
hot  and  unhealthy.  Now,  through  the  numerous  foreign 
marriages  and  the  consequent  influx  of  foreign  tastes, 
many  of  the  old  places  have  been  modernised  into  delight- 
ful dwellings,  steam-heated,  electric-lighted,  and  put  in 
organised  communication  with  the  "  fournisseurs "  of 
every  kind  of  expensive  luxury  for  the  table  and  life 
generally.  There  is  this  to  be  said  for  the  foreign 
marriage  —  If  the  wife  be  an  Englishwoman  of  rank, 

99 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

she  feels  it  Imperativ^e  to  have  her  proper  country  home 
as  well  as  her  town  house;  if  she  be  an  American,  the 
instinct  is  in  her,  though  not  the  tradition,  and,  not  having 
to  encounter  the  difficulties  of  home-making  in  the  States, 
where  domestic  service  is  so  bad,  uncertain,  and  expen- 
sive, the  woman's  natural  love  of  home  has  a  chance 
to  develop  and  assert  itself  very  beneficially,  first  of  all 
for  her  own  character,  and  incidentally  for  the  comfort 
and  good  of  her  family  and  her  husband's  dependents. 

The  young  man  who  was  the  head  of  the  Roman 
Sforzas  in  1883  had  married  Donna  Vittoria  Colonna, 
who,  if  I  remember  rightly,  overtopped  him  by  some  inches 
in  height  and  unmeasured  distances  in  spirit.  He  was, 
physically,  a  degenerate  descendant  of  the  great  wood- 
cutter brute,  Attendolo  Sforza,  who,  together  with  his 
immediate  descendants,  has  furnished  eclectic  English 
writers  and  fastidious  English  readers  with  such  a  glo- 
rious debauch  of  lust  and  savagery.  The  Duke  of  my  day 
was  a  very  ordinary  young  man,  fond  of  pleasure  when 
pleasure  entailed  no  risk  and  little  trouble,  callous  to  bru- 
tality where  the  affairs  of  his  peasants  were  concerned.  A 
sordid  tragedy,  which  roused  the  latter's  wrath  to  boiling 
point,  occurred  while  we  were  at  Genzano,  and  brought 
me  into  hostile  contact  with  my  landlord.  The  collector 
of  the  local  taxes  for  the  government  was  set  upon, 
robbed,  and  murdered,  as  he  was  returning  from  one 
of  his  rounds.  Such  an  official  is,  naturally,  not  popular 
with  the  inhabitants,  but  this  poor  man  left  a  young 
wife  who,  with  her  old  mother  to  provide  for,  found 
herself  not  only  widowed  and  heartbroken,  but  utterly 

100 


TYRANTS,    SOLDIERS,    AND    SAILORS 

destitute  when  the  family  bread-winner  met  with  his 
violent  death.  They  were  Neapolitans,  but  the  Genzano 
people  felt  great  pity  for  them.  Being  very  poor  them- 
selves, they  hoped  that  the  Duke  would  come  to  the 
forlorn  woman's  assistance.  The  Duke,  however,  was 
persistently  inaccessible  to  them,  so  I  undertook  to  inter- 
view him  and  present  the  case  to  his  consideration.  I 
shall  never  forget  the  shameless  callousness  with  which 
he  refused  my  modest  request.  To  all  my  pleading  his 
only  reply  was,  "  The  man  was  rather  a  good-for-nothing 
fellow  at  best.  His  family  will  have  to  look  out  for 
themselves.  I  can  do  nothing  for  them."  It  was  a  case 
where  the  tiniest  monthly  sum  given  for  charity's  sake  till 
the  widow  could  get  work  (to  make  matters  smoother 
the  poor  thing  was  expecting  a  baby)  would  have  meant 
untold  relief  and  peace.  As  it  was  the  "  family  "  was  left 
to  the  kind  offices  of  strangers  and  no  inquiries  were 
ever  made  as  to  what  became  of  it.  The  baby  proved 
to  be  a  child  of  exceptional  intelligence  and  character 
and  has  grown  into  a  brilliantly  intellectual  young  man, 
none  too  well  disposed,  as  is  only  natural,  towards  the 
upper  classes  of  his  own  country.  It  is  the  rich,  selfish 
people  who  make  all  the  real  socialists  in  Italy  as 
elsewhere. 

It  was  curious  to  go  from  room  to  room  in  that 
Cesarini  palace  and  trace  in  the  many  portraits  the  change 
in  the  transmitted  characteristics  of  the  race.  First, 
brute  strength  and  dormant  ferocity,  then  ferocity  in 
power  —  the  concentrated  yet  heavy  face  of  the  tyrant, 
forced  to  constant  watchfulness;   then,  as  fortune  smiled 

lOI 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

and  manners  grew  milder,  the  tenseness  was  banished 
by  confidence  and  good  living,  and  replaced  by  an  ex- 
pression of  contented  arrogance  which,  of  later  years, 
became  merely  dull,  vacuous,  and  almost  frightened,  as 
if  the  descendants  of  Attendolo  Sforza  were  sometimes 
asking  themselves  what  on  earth  would  happen  should 
some  reverse  really  throw  them  on  their  own  resources. 

The  Palazzo  was  altogether  rather  a  melancholy  place, 
and  although  we  formed  a  large  gay  party  ourselves 
and  had  pleasant  friends  to  stay  with  us,  a  vague  sense 
of  the  untoward  hung  over  me  from  the  time  we  were 
installed  there,  a  sense  quite  justified  by  the  events,  for 
no  sooner  were  we  established  in  Villa  Sforza  than  my 
husband  received  a  summons  to  return  home  to  England, 
where  his  mother  lay  dying  in  her  house  at  Bath.  To 
my  regret,  I  was  unable  to  go  with  him,  but  I  had  re- 
tained a  vivid  recollection  of  my  visit  to  Bath,  a  year 
earlier,  and  the  delightful  image  of  my  mother-in-law 
was  still  fresh  and  ever  present  in  my  mind  all  through 
those  last  weeks  of  her  life. 

Of  all  the  women  of  a  bygone  generation,  I  always 
think  that  Lady  Eraser  was  one  of  the  most  charming 
types,  and  one  of  the  furthest  removed  from  the  world 
of  to-day  in  almost  everything  —  the  secluded  calm  of 
her  life,  and  her  complete  immunity  from  all  things 
mercenary  or  superficial,  as  well  as  in  her  completely 
gentle,  but  steadfast,  trust  in  the  goodness  of  Providence 
towards  her.  Born  in  the  momentous  year  which  saw 
her  country's  security  threatened  on  the  one  hand  by 
war  with  France,  and  on  the  other  by  the  rebellion  in 

I02 


TYRANTS,    SOLDIERS,    AND    SAILORS 

Ireland,  she  grew  up  amidst  an  atmosphere  of  great 
events. 

My  husband  used  to  tell  me  how,  as  a  little  girl,  his 
mother  would  go  up  into  her  bedroom  at  Stede  Hill  in 
Kent,  and  pray  Heaven  to  deliver  them  from  the  menace 
of  "  Boney  "  and  his  mighty  preparations  for  the  inva- 
sion of  England,  back  in  1804  or  thereabouts. 

But  until  Napoleon's  career  was  finally  ended,  in  her 
seventeenth  year,  the  existence  to  Miss  Selima  Baldwin 
(as  she  was)  must  have  been  replete  with  the  most  painful 
anxiety  and  uncertainties,  seeing  that,  save  for  the  few 
months  between  the  first  abdication  of  Napoleon  in  18 14 
and  the  campaign  of  the  following  summer  In  Belgium, 
not  a  day  went  by  without  its  meed  of  mental  distress  — 
even  when  that  distress  was  leavened  by  the  news  of 
victories.  Of  her  own  immediate  relations,  one  at  least, 
Tom  Baldwin,  was  drawn  into  the  vortex  of  these  trou- 
blous times,  and  that  in  no  very  satisfactory  manner  to 
himself,  as  an  officer  with  the  Duke  of  York's  ill-fated 
expedition  to  Walcheren.  When  first  I  saw  my  mother- 
in-law,  In  1 88 1,  her  husband  had  been  dead  some  years, 
so  that  I  never  met  him;  but  the  stories  of  him  were 
plentiful.  The  youngest  of  three  brothers,  he  was  sent 
to  a  "  Dame's  "  house  at  Eton  at  the  age  of  no  more  than 
six.  In  the  year  of  his  wife's  birth,  1798.  There  he  re- 
mained until,  I  think,  about  1808,  when  he  voluntarily 
took  upon  himself  the  blame  for  another's  fault  and  so 
underwent  expulsion  to  save  a  friend  from  punishment. 
The  Eton  of  Sir  John  Eraser's  day  was  very  different 
from  that  of  our  own,  or,  even,  from  that  of  my  hus- 

103 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

band's;  boys  were  still  more  left  to  themselves  for  good 
or  evil  than  they  are  now  —  and  that  would  seem  to  be 
saying  a  good  deal !  One  of  the  marked  features  of  the 
Eton  of  that  time  was  the  insufficiency  of  the  food;  and,  on 
one  occasion,  my  father-in-law,  together  with  some  other 
boys,  determined  to  satisfy  their  hunger  by  an  ingenious 
method.  Finding  a  sow  one  day,  just  across  the  bound- 
aries of  the  school,  they  contrived  to  smuggle  the  creature 
to  the  top  of  the  building,  where  they  made  a  comfort- 
able temporary  home  for  her  during  some  weeks  until 
her  litter  was  born  —  the  whole  of  which  they  killed, 
roasted,  and  ate  with  ravenous  appetites.  The  sow, 
herself,  they  afterwards  restored  under  cover  of  night  to 
the  pasture  of  her  owner  —  who  must  have  been  wonder- 
ing what  had  become  of  his  property! 

From  Eton  young  Eraser  went  to  Haileybury,  there  to 
prepare  for  the  service  of  the  East  India  Company;  he 
also  left,  under  a  cloud;  this  time  for  insubordination, 
and  his  habits  of  fighting  with  the  watermen !  Soon 
after,  though,  in  1811,  an  ensign's  commission  was 
bought  for  him;  no  sooner  had  he  joined  his  regiment, 
however,  than  he  proceeded  to  distinguish  himself  afresh, 
by  an  exploit  which  might  have  ended  badly  for  all  con- 
cerned. He  had  made  a  bet  that  he  would  row  over, 
with  a  boatful  of  soldiers,  from  Dover  to  Calais  and  back 
again  in  a  given  time,  without  being  taken  prisoner  by 
the  French;  which  feat  he  accomplished  successfully, 
albeit  he  had  to  finish  his  performance  by  sculling  the 
last  few  homeward  miles  alone  —  his  companions  being 
one  and  all  too  prostrated  by  sea-sickness  to  handle  an 

104 


TYRANTS,    SOLDIERS,    AND    SAILORS 

oar.  This  fondness  for  laying  wagers  upon  his  own 
powers  of  physical  endurance  was  transmitted  to  his  son, 
my  husband,  who,  many  years  later,  as  an  attache  in 
Saxony  in  1857,  undertook  to  swim  for  a  bet  down  the 
Elbe  from  Dresden  to  Pirna  —  and  won  his  bet,  too! 

But  to  return  to  my  father-in-law.  In  that  same  year, 
1 81 1,  his  uncle,  Sir  George  Nugent,  took  the  youngster 
out  with  him  to  India  as  A.  D.  C.  Sir  George  was  a  sol- 
dier of  the  old  school,  who  had  seen  service  first  in 
America  in  1775;  later  on,  after  marrying  Miss  Van 
Cortlandt-Skinner,  whose  father  had  been  a  loyalist 
during  the  Revolution,  he  received  the  command  of  the 
troops  in  the  north  of  Ireland.  In  this  capacity  he  put 
down  the  rising  there  in  1798,  by  his  defeat  of  the  rebels 
at  Ballynahinch.  After  his  victory,  be  it  said,  Nugent 
acted  in  no  wise  like  some  of  his  colleagues  in  the  South; 
there  was  nothing,  for  instance,  of  "  pitch-capping " 
under  his  rule,  as  there  was  in  Waterford  and  Wexford 
under  the  auspices  of  the  Yeomanry  and  their  officers 
after  Vinegar  Hill. 

It  was  on  the  voyage  to  India  that  Eraser  fought  his 
first  duel.  It  came  about  as  the  result  of  the  ship's  captain 
having  spoken  roughly  on  some  occasion  to  a  soldier  — 
one  of  a  draft  under  Eraser's  charge.  The  latter 
promptly  demanded  satisfaction  of  the  "skipper"  who 
was  by  no  means  anxious  for  an  encounter;  at  length, 
however,  he  was  compelled  to  accept  the  challenge  — 
mainly,  I  fancy,  through  the  good  offices  of  General 
Nugent,  who,  as  in  loco  parentis,  was  unwilling  that  his 
nephew  should  lose  the  chance  of  thus  smelling  powder 

105 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

so  early  in  his  career.  As  he  remarked  to  Lady  Nugent, 
who  was  in  dread  of  the  consequences  for  her  sister's 
boy:  —  "  It  would  make  all  the  difference  to  him,  after- 
wards, to  have  been  shot  over."  The  combatants 
were  put  ashore  upon  an  island  and  the  duel  took  place. 
Providentially,  however,  no  one  was  hurt,  and  the  voy- 
age was  resumed  without  delay.  Let  me  say  at  once 
that  I  am  utterly  opposed  to  duelling,  in  itself,  as  a  means 
of  settling  men's  differences;  and  yet,  in  view  of  the 
deterioration  of  good  manners  since  its  abolition  at  home, 
I  cannot  help  agreeing  with  a  saintly  priest  of  the  Ora- 
tory in  London,  to  whom  I  once  happened  to  mention 
the  question.  "  Yes,  indeed,"  he  replied,  "  duelling  was 
a  horrible  thing  —  but,  oh,  dear,  I  often  think  what  a 
pity  it  is  they  can't  think  of  something  else  to  take  its 
place!" 

Shortly  after  his  arrival  in  India  —  he  was  stationed 
in  what  is  now  the  Madras  Presidency  —  Eraser  ex- 
changed into  a  cavalry  regiment,  the  Fourteenth  Light 
Dragoons,  in  the  hopes  of  getting  back  with  them  to 
Europe  in  time  to  see  something  of  service  against 
the  French.  In  this  he  was  doomed  to  disappointment. 
Subsequently,  he  transferred  to  the  Eighth  of  the  same 
branch,  but  with  no  better  luck.  Nor  was  it  until  long 
after  leaving  India  and  selling  his  commission  that  for- 
tune turned  for  him,  when  his  cousin.  Lord  Glenelg,  as 
Secretary  for  the  Colonies,  procured  for  him  the  appoint- 
ment of  Secretary  to  the  Commissioner  of  the  Ionian 
Islands.  There  my  husband  used  to  spend  his  holi- 
days sometimes  with  his  parents,  years  later,  when  a  boy 

io6 


TYRANTS,    SOLDIERS,    AND    SAILORS 

at  Eton.  On  one  of  these  occasions,  he  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  a  Mr.  Gordon,  a  young  officer  of 
Engineers,  a  few  years  his  senior,  who  was,  I  take  it, 
on  his  way  back  from  the  Near  East  to  England  after 
the  Crimean  War.  Even  then,  Charles  George  Gordon 
possessed  an  extraordinary  magnetism  over  all  who  came 
into  contact  with  him;  and  my  husband  fell  completely 
under  the  spell  of  his  personality.  It  was  Gordon's 
voice,  more  than  anything  else,  that  at  first  fascinated 
Hugh  —  one  of  those  true  Scottish  voices  that  must  be 
heard  to  be  appreciated;  but  apart  from  that,  the  man's 
amazing  fatalism,  together  with  his  belief  in  himself 
as  an  instrument  of  Heaven,  marked  him  out  sufficiently 
from  among  his  fellow-creatures.  Had  Gordon  been  of 
a  somewhat  different  type,  with  his  abiding  conviction  of 
being  the  recipient  of  a  definite  mission  somewhere  in 
the  world,  there  is  no  saying  but  that  he  might  have  fol- 
lowed in  the  footsteps  of  others  among  his  compatriots 
and  taken  service  under  a  foreign  European  government. 
For  he  was  quite  thrown  away  on  that  of  England,  which 
abandoned  him  so  shamefully  in  the  hour  of  his  supreme 
need.  Of  all  the  instances,  however,  of  Scots  in  foreign 
service,  one  handed  down  from  that  James  Keith  who 
fell  at  Prague  as  a  Prussian  field-marshal  under 
Frederick  the  Great  Is,  to  my  mind,  by  far  the  most 
delightful.  Before  entering  the  service  of  Prussia,  it 
will  be  remembered  how  James  Keith  had  served 
both  Spain  and  Russia;  it  was  as  a  general  officer 
of  the  Empress  Anna  Petrovna  that  he  was  entrusted 
with  the  conduct  of  some  preliminaries  for  peace  with 

107 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

Turkey,  prior  to  the  treaty  of  Belgrade.  On  the  com- 
pletion of  the  negotiations,  which  were  conducted  in 
French,  the  Turkish  representativ-e  —  no  other,  indeed, 
than  the  Grand  Vizier,  himself  —  a  tall,  red-bearded 
personage  dressed  all  in  the  sacred  green  of  a  Hadji 
(or  holy  man  who  had  made  the  pilgrimage  to  Mecca), 
arose  and  came  round  to  where  Keith  was  standing  by 
the  table. 

"  It  affords  me  great  pleasure,  Sir,"  the  Grand  Vizier 
began  to  the  astounded  Keith,  in  excellent  English,  with 
an  entrancing  Scottish  accent,  "  to  have  had  the  oppor- 
tunity of  meeting  again  with  so  distinguished  a  person 
as  yourself.  You  look  surprised  —  but  I  well  remember 
you  and  your  brother  going  to  school.  My  father,  Sir, 
was  the  bell-man  of  Kircaldy." 

Seeing  that  it  was  this  same  Grand  Vizier,  Yegen 
Mohammed  Pasha,  who  had  just  defeated  another  Scot 
—  in  the  person  of  Wallis  or  Wallace,  the  Austrian 
commander  at  Krotzka  —  and  so  had  decided  the  whole 
issue  of  the  campaign,  the  situation  was  not  unlike  that 
described  by  the  late  Max  O'Rell  in  speaking  of  a  snow- 
bound railway  train  in  Canada  of  which  he  said,  "  There 
was  only  one  stove  on  the  entire  system  —  and  a  Scotch- 
man had  it."  (And,  by  the  way,  there  is,  I  am  told,  no 
word  so  offensive  to  the  Scottish  ear  as  that  same 
"Scotch";  the  word  was  coined  by  Doctor  Johnson, 
I  believe,  and  so  was  probably  intended  to  apply  to  his 
biographer,  Boswell.) 

Speaking  of  Scots,  to  my  mind  the  most  remarkable  of 
all   the   characters   connected   with   Corfu   in  the   years 

io8 


TYRANTS,    SOLDIERS,    AND    SAILORS 

after  the  Crimean  War  was  Doctor  James  Burns 
who  died  there  In  July,  1865,  as  one  of  her  Majesty's 
Inspectors  of  Military  Hospitals.  He  had  formerly, 
I  think,  been  attached  to  the  garrison  at  the  Cape 
of  Good  Hope,  whence  he  had  been  sent  home  for  some 
offence  against  discipline.  Far  and  wide  he  had  the  repu- 
tation of  being  one  of  the  most  quarrelsome  men  in 
the  whole  army;  having  been  repeatedly  engaged  in 
duels  —  and  that  as  the  challenging  party.  His  extra- 
ordinary abilities,  however,  procured  him  the  pardon  of 
the  authorities,  and  so,  at  length,  he  rose  to  the  top  of 
his  profession.  He  died  quite  suddenly,  and  the  amaze- 
ment at  the  Horse  Guards,  where  his  death  was  reported 
at  once,  may  be  imagined  when  it  turned  out  that  the 
fire-eating  Doctor  had,  in  reality,  been  —  a  woman! 
The  truth  as  to  Doctor  Burns'  sex  had  not  been  sus- 
pected by  even  his  body-servant.  It  began  to  be  ru- 
moured, soon  after  "  his  "  demise,  that  the  Doctor  had 
been  the  granddaughter  of  a  Scottiish  peer  and  had  em- 
braced the  medical  profession  for  love  of  an  army  sur- 
geon about  the  time  of  Waterloo. 

The  Erasers'  attachment  to  Bath,  the  depressing  "  city 
of  King  Bladud,"  puzzled  me  until  I  realised  that  its  som- 
nolent calm  was  just  what  would  appeal  to  men  ready  to 
retire  from  the  wild  hurly-burly  of  military  service  a  hun- 
dred years  ago.  My  husband's  grandfather  passed  the 
last  years  of  his  life  there,  the  same  grandfather  who  had 
gone  out  to  America  with  the  family  regiment,  the  Seventy- 
first,  under  the  leadership  of  his  uncle.  Brigadier  Simon 
Eraser,  of  Balnain.     The  war  of  1775  was  a  most  un- 

109 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

popular  one  in  the  Highlands  and  as  an  Instance  of  this 
it  is  told  how,  when  the  Brigadier  was  about  to  sail  from 
Greenock  and  was  giving  a  farewell  lunch  to  his  friends, 
including  some  ladies  from  the  south  of  Scotland,  who 
did  not  understand  Gaelic,  the  wives  and  families  of  his 
clansmen,  whom  he  had  compelled  to  serve  under  him, 
assembled  outside  the  inn  and  cursed  him  roundly  In 
their  native  tongue.  On  being  questioned  by  one  of  the 
ladies  present  as  to  the  meaning  of  this  demonstration, 
he  replied  that  it  was  entirely  compllmentarv  and  in- 
tended to  show  the  loyalty  and  goodwill  of  the  clan. 

Nevertheless,  the  curses  held  good,  and  the  poor  Briga- 
dier, as  we  know,  was  destined  to  fall  as  the  victim  of  a 
sharpshooter,  one  Murphy,  who  shot  him  In  obedience  to 
the  American  Colonel  Morgan's  orders  at  Saratoga  in 
1777.  "Do  you  see  that  officer  on  the  grey  horse?" 
asked  Morgan  of  Murphy.  "  That  is  General  Fraser  — 
he  Is  a  brave  man,  but  I  must  do  my  duty  and  we  cannot 
afford  to  let  him  live."  The  Brigadier  was  shot  through 
the  stomach  —  in  precisely  the  same  way  as  happened, 
although,  mercifully,  without  the  same  result,  to  my 
younger  son  in  the  Boer  War  —  and  died  during  the  fol- 
lowing night  In  the  house  where  the  wife  of  his  colleague. 
Baroness  RIedesel,  was  awaiting  news  of  her  husband;  she 
it  was  who  used  to  tell  how,  like  Charles  II,  the  Brigadier 
kept  apologising  for  his  slowness  in  dying  and  for  the 
inconvenience  he  must  be  causing  her. 

At  sunset  of  the  next  day  he  was  burled  in  the  great 
redoubt  near  which  he  had  been  struck  down,  Mr.  Bru- 
denel,  the  chaplain,  reading  the  Service  over  his  body, 

no 


TYRANTS,    SOLDIERS,    AND    SAILORS 

while  the  Americans,  mistaking  the  nature  of  the  pro- 
ceedings, poured  a  sustained  cannonade  upon  them. 
Brudenel,  all  credit  to  him,  continued  his  reading  un- 
dauntedly, although  his  surplice  was  scattered  over  with 
the  sand  and  dust  from  the  shots  that  fell  around  him. 
Presently,  however,  when  the  Americans  realised  what 
was  taking  place,  they  changed  their  fire  for  that  of 
minute-guns  with  which  to  render  the  ordinary  honours  to 
the  dead.  The  Brigadier's  remains  were  allowed  to  stay 
there  for  nearly  half  a  century,  until  1822,  when  his  old 
soldier-servant,  a  man  of  the  clan,  came  over  and  took 
them  back  to  Scotland  for  reinterment.  He  found  them 
without  much  difficulty;  a  few  bones,  wrapped  between 
blankets,  and  lying  upon  a  couple  of  crossed  bayonets,  a 
silver  stock-buckle,  and  some  rags  of  uniform.  The  Briga- 
dier it  was  who  had  been  the  first  man  to  scale  the  Heights 
of  Abraham,  in  the  night  of  September  i,  1759,  with  the 
former  family  regiment  (the  old  78th,  subsequently  dis- 
banded in  1763  when  its  place  was  taken  by  the  71st). 
The  idea,  though,  of  scaling  the  apparently  insurmount- 
able heights,  was  originally  that  of  another  Scot,  Lieu- 
tenant Macculloch  —  without  the  help  of  whose  sug- 
gestions Wolfe  might  well  have  had  to  endure  the  fate 
he  pictured  in  his  own  words  when  he  declared,  "  I 
will  never  return  home  to  be  exposed,  as  other  unfortu- 
nate commanders  have  been,  to  the  censure  and  reproach 
of  an  ignorant  and  ungrateful  populace."  Macculloch, 
by  the  way,  was  left  to  die,  by  his  country,  as  a  pauper 
in  Marylebone  Workhouse  in  1793.  Amongst  those 
who  distinguished  themselves  especially  in  the  battle  was 

III 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

an  old  Highland  gentleman,  Malcolm  MacPherson  of 
Phoiness,  then  in  his  eightieth  year,  who,  having  lost 
his  all  in  a  lawsuit,  came  out  with  the  Erasers  as  a 
volunteer.  So  well  did  he  use  his  "  claybeg,"  or  broad- 
sword, that  he  was  given  a  commission  for  his  prowess. 

To  return  to  the  Erasers  of  my  own  day —  a  week  or 
two  after  my  husband  got  back  from  England  my  good 
little  Austrian  cook,  a  girl  we  had  brought  from  Vienna, 
fell  ill  of  typhoid  fever  and  died,  to  our  great  sorrow, 
far  from  her  own  people  and  land.  After  that,  I  fled 
with  my  children  to  Leghorn,  to  get  a  few  weeks  of  the 
good  sea-breezes  before  returning  to  town,  when  other 
complications  awaited  me.  These  two  years  at  our 
Roman  post  seemed  to  be  full  of  nothing  else  at  times ! 

In  order  to  be  in  the  same  quarter  as  the  Embassy  we 
had  taken  an  apartment  on  the  Esquiline,  looking  into 
the  Piazza  of  Santa  Maria  Maggiore.  It  went  against 
me  like  a  sacrilege,  for  the  raw,  showy,  newly  built  house 
stood  exactly  over  the  spot  where,  in  my  childhood,  the 
side  gate  of  Villa  Negroni,  my  birthplace,^  shut  our  own 
fairy-land  off  from  the  world  outside.  Just  here  the 
orange  "  Viale  "  used  to  end  in  a  beautiful  deep-arched 
gateway  two  stories  high,  containing  a  studio  and  dwell- 
ing rooms,  and  frescoed  within  and  without  in  fine  Renais- 
sance style.  Through  its  iron  "  cancello  "  Marion  and  I 
used  to  watch  the  doings  of  the  outer  world  and  listen  to 
the  bells  of  Santa  Maria  Maggiore,  our  own  special 
church.  A  friendly  French  artist  had  rented  the  studio 
from  my  father,  and  we  had  an  intimate  friend  in  a  hoary, 

^  See  Volume  I  of  "A  Diplomatist's  Wife  in  Many  Lands." 
112 


TYRANTS,    SOLDIERS,    AND    SAILORS 

cheerful  old  beggar  who  sat  all  day  on  the  stone  seat  out- 
side and  into  whose  battered  peaked  hat  we  dropped  many 
a  baicocco  on  festa  days.  To  him  I  proudly  presented 
my  first  piece  of  knitting,  I  remember  —  a  woollen  scarf 
of  all  the  colours  of  the  rainbow,  of  which  I  was  enor- 
mously proud. 

In  May  there  was  another  great  attraction  just 
outside  that  gate,  a  wonderful  little  altar,  all  smothered 
in  roses  and  pansies,  in  the  midst  of  which  stood 
a  picture  of  Our  Lady,  flanked  —  when  the  altar 
tenders  had  had  good  luck  —  with  lighted  candles.  This 
was  the  poor  children's  way  of  celebrating  the  Month 
of  Mary.  Before  almost  every  doorway  in  the  humbler 
quarters  of  the  town  stood  a  little  table,  sometimes  only 
a  straw-bottomed  chair,  on  which,  during  the  whole 
month,  the  "  Madonna  "  of  the  family  was  displayed, 
surrounded  with  flowers,  and  passersby  were  solicited 
to  drop  a  copper  into  the  cup  on  the  "  altarino  "  to  buy 
more  candles  with.  The  pretty  custom  disappeared  with 
all  the  others,  after  the  changes  which  had  so  "  trans- 
mogrified "  our  end  of  the  town  that  but  for  the  great 
Church  of  St.  Mary  Major  one  would  hardly  know  it 
again. 

The  desecrators  brought  down  one  heavy  punishment 
on  the  inhabitants,  however.  Reckless  of  the  history 
of  that  part  of  the  city,  in  the  wild  fever  of  speculation, 
they  tore  down  the  sparsely  scattered  old  buildings  and, 
to  lay  foundations  for  new  ones,  opened  up  depths 
which  past  generations  had  wisely  let  alone.  The  re- 
gion where  our  own  Villa  stretched  its  grounds  had,  in 

113 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

ancient  times,  been  the  burying  place  for  slaves,  and 
these,  with  all  the  most  undesirable  part  of  the  popula- 
tion, crowded  the  "  Suburra,"  the  quarter  which  lies 
between  Santa  Maria  Maggiore  and  the  Lateran,  and 
which  still  bears,  in  the  mouths  of  the  people,  its  ancient 
name,  and,  in  its  newly  built  squalor  and  desolation, 
maintains  at  least  the  aspect  of  its  ancient  reputation. 

It  had  not  occurred  to  the  innovators  to  consult  ex- 
perts as  to  the  qualities  of  the  soil  in  which  they  started 
to  delve  so  light-heartedly,  but  an  outburst  of  particu- 
larly malevolent  malaria  soon  enlightened  them  and  the 
unfortunate  inhabitants,  and  the  miserably  bad  drainage 
arrangements  did  the  rest.  After  endless  trouble  and 
continuous  illness  in  the  family,  we  decided  to  change 
our  domicile,  and  in  the  second  year  of  that  stage  in 
Rome,  moved  into  a  "  bijou  "  Villa  close  to  the  Embassy, 
but  still  on  what  had  been  the  grounds  of  Villa  Negroni. 

I  left  the  house  on  the  Esquiline  thankfully  enough, 
for  with  malaria  had  come  another  pest  from  which 
several  besides  ourselves  had  to  suffer  and  which  really 
got  on  my  nerves  most  unpleasantly  —  apparitions  of 
dead  Romans  of  a  disreputable  class  and  endowed  with 
irritating  persistency.  I  always  loved  good  ghost-stories 
because  of  the  fine  dramatic  pictures  that  they  present 
to  the  imagination,  and  I  had  got  quite  fond  of  the  old 
window  ghost  in  Palazzo  Odescalchi,  the  gentle,  kindly 
shade  who  stayed  with  us  for  so  many  years;  ^  but  for 
the  ordinary  "  ghost  "  I  feel  nothing  but  antipathy  and 
contempt.     It  is  irritating  to  busy,  healthy  people  to  be 

'  See  "A  Diplomatist's  Wife  in  Many  Lands." 
114 


TYRANTS,    SOLDIERS,    AND    SAILORS 

haunted  by  malevolent  apparitions  who  have  neither 
right  nor  place  in  our  visible  world.  Of  course  one 
knows  that  many  such  apparitions  are  mere  natural 
photographs  reproduced  only  in  exceptional  and  peculiar 
conditions  of  the  atmosphere  such  as  those  which 
first  witnessed  them;  such  are,  without  doubt,  the 
repetitions  of  battles  seen  again  and  again,  as  in 
1642,  at  Edgehill,  where  every  Friday  night  (the  con- 
flict had  taken  place  on  a  Friday)  for  six  weeks,  the 
battle  was  fought  over  again,  crowds  of  people  watching 
it,  and  the  whole  business  causing  so  much  excitement 
that  the  King  sent  a  commission  to  inquire  into  it.  Simi- 
larly Culloden,  and,  it  is  said,  Waterloo,  have  been  also 
reproduced  by  some,  to  us,  unknown  cinematograph  of 
Nature,  but  at  irregular  intervals;  Malmaison  has 
had  to  be  closed  to  the  public  because  the  Parisians 
came  in  such  crowds  to  watch  the  assembly  of  "  Consul- 
ate "  phantoms  who  showed  themselves  so  frankly  on 
its  lawns  quite  recently.  These  apparitions  do  not  in- 
spire the  loathing  which  more  personal  ones  of  a  bad 
kind  arouse  in  us,  and  those  which  were  let  loose  in  Rome 
in  the  early  eighties  belonged  to  the  latter  class.  Some 
English  friends  of  ours,  most  practical,  cheery  people, 
had  to  leave  their  apartment  on  account  of  the  molesta- 
tions of  a  creature  in  classical  costume  —  with  no  head! 
The  place  was  not  big  enough  for  him  and  the  family, 
and  the  family  had  to  go.  My  own  experience  was  simi- 
lar in  a  way,  but  too  disagreeable  to  narrate  in  detail. 
Our  visitor  troubled  the  children  and  the  servants  a  little, 
but,  I  suppose  because  I  was  worried  and  run  down  and 

115 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

below  par  generally,  fastened  himself  on  me  and  followed 
me  across  the  world.  I  did  not  get  rid  of  him  for  several 
years,  but  I  think  it  is  quite  possible  that  the  original 
and  real  horror  had  so  taken  hold  of  my  imagination 
that  it  reproduced  it  spontaneously  afterwards. 

The  "  Villino  "  was  really  a  charming  little  house  with 
a  tiny  garden  of  its  own,  and  it  was  the  scene  of  a  Christ- 
mas gathering  which  could  never  be  repeated.  Dear 
Uncle  Sam  was  there,  the  benevolent  genius  of  our  chil- 
dren's Christmas  Tree,  and  he,  as  well  as  my  own  dear 
people,  Marion  included,  showered  them  with  beautiful 
presents  far  beyond  their  then  powers  of  counting.  Since 
they  have  been  grown  men  I  have  heard  them  recall  their 
delight  in  a  certain  donkey  and  cart,  and  in  a  towering 
fortress  of  such  dimensions  that,  with  "  Neddy  "  and  the 
cart,  it  was  too  big  to  take  away  and  had  to  be  donated 
to  the  Children's  Hospital  when  we  left  Rome  in  the  sum- 
mer of  1884,  never  to  return  as  a  family. 

Towards  February  Uncle  Sam  went  for  a  Mediter- 
ranean trip  which  was  to  occupy  some  weeks.  When 
he  turned  his  face  towards  home  he  found  on  the  ship  a 
very,  very  sick  Englishman,  a  stranger  to  him,  but  to 
Uncle  Sam  a  sick  stranger  became  a  brother  at  once.  He 
disembarked  with  this  poor  man  at  Messina  and  remained 
there  to  nurse  him  well.  But  it  was  too  much  for  him; 
he  returned  to  Rome  very  ill  himself,  and  for  weeks 
and  weeks  lay  helpless  with  fever  and  lung  trouble.  His 
dear,  handsome  face  grew  more  pinched  and  shadowy 
every  day;  his  mind  turned  towards  the  past,  and  when 
we  came  back  from  church  on  Palm  Sunday,  with  the 

116 


TYRANTS,    SOLDIERS,   AND    SAILORS 

palms,  he  told  us  how  vividly  it  reminded  him  of  Medora 
and  his  boys,  who  used  to  bring  them  home  to  his  old 
house  in  New  York.  He  was  much  disappointed  to  miss 
the  Holy  Week  functions;  he  "  wanted  to  see  the  people 
crowding  to  the  Confessionals;  "  that  picture  had  taken 
hold  of  his  fancy!  My  eldest  boy  was  ill  again  all  that 
spring,  and  in  the  beginning  of  May  I  took  him  away  to 
the  Tyrol.  A  few  days  later  Marion  and  Daisy,  and  the 
"  Bon  Secours  "  Sister  who,  with  so  much  illness,  had 
become  almost  a  member  of  our  family,  took  the  dear 
Uncle  to  Pegli,  in  the  hope  of  his  benefiting  by  the  cooler 
northern  airs.  But  three  weeks  later  he  died  there,  very 
peacefully,  and  there,  by  the  sea,  he  was  buried.  He  had 
given  his  life,  not  for  a  friend,  but  for  a  stranger,  and 
"  no  man  can  do  more." 

Each  time  I  returned  to  Rome  I  was  saddened  to  find 
more  empty  places  in  the  old  "  cadre  "  which  had  seemed 
so  crowded  with  friends  in  my  youth.  One  whom  I  still 
missed,  though  he  died  before  my  marriage,  was  General 
de  Sonnaz.  His  kindness  and  gentleness  had  made  a 
great  impression  on  my  rather  butterfly  mind.  Our  in- 
troduction to  him  was  effected  by  Mr.  Wurts,  of  the 
United  States  Legation.  He  was  an  old  friend,  and  he 
suggested  to  my  mother,  sometime  after  the  Italians  took 
possession,  that,  since  we  were  not  Blacks  or  even  Catho- 
lics, there  was  no  particular  reason  why  we  should  not 
go  to  Court  and  enjoy  ourselves.  But  my  dear  mother 
was  not  easily  persuaded  and  it  was  only  after  some 
hesitation  that  she  consented.  She  was  not  Black,  but 
she  could  not  bring  herself  to  approve  of  the  Whites 

117 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

or  their  friends.  Some  of  their  Chiefs  were  too  hope- 
lessly unreceivable  —  one  cannot  have  an  unfrocked 
monk  lounging  about  in  one's  drawing-room,  even  though 
he  be  disguised  as  a  general  —  and  she  refused  to  believe 
that  any  one  who  associated  with  them  could  escape  being 
tainted. 

Still,  Mr.  Wurts  was  a  very  fastidious  person,  and, 
since  he  took  the  responsibility,  she  could  feel  reasonably 
sure  that  we  should  not  have  to  meet  the  "  quite-impos- 
sibles  ";  so  the  good  man  arranged  a  dinner  party,  con- 
sisting of  the  Giannottis,  General  de  Sonnaz,  my  sister 
Annie,  and  myself,  and  there  it  was  that  we  were  intro- 
duced to  the  old  warrior.  He  struck  us  as  a  quiet,  rather 
sad  man;  very  pleasant,  but  very  far  away.  His  mind 
seemed  to  be  moving  in  another  world  altogether,  from 
which  it  would  drag  itself  back  to  us  almost  painfully. 
He  was  very  kind  despite  his  absent-mindedness,  and, 
our  presentations,  having  been  already  arranged,  took 
us  under  his  wing  when  we  first  went  to  the  Quirinal. 

He  was  afflicted  with  chronic  bad  luck,  to  which  the 
fact  that  he  had  not  distinguished  himself  more  as  a  sol- 
dier was  generally  ascribed  by  those  who  knew  him. 
Whatever  may  be  said  to  the  contrary,  there  is  such  a 
thing  as  pure  luck,  and  no  mathematician  who  ever  lived 
could  disprove  it.  Figures  are  the  most  unreliable  things, 
and  I  have  always  been  quite  sure  that  the  man  who  first 
said  that  they  could  not  lie  had  no  more  than  a  bare  nod- 
ding acquaintance  with  them.  Despite  the  ill  luck  that 
dogged  him,  however.  General  de  Sonnaz  had  risen  high, 
both  in  the  army  —  the  original  army  of  Sardinia,  that 

ii8 


TYRANTS,    SOLDIERS,    AND    SAILORS 

is  to  say,  not  the  hotch-potch  that  it  became  afterwards 
—  and  in  the  estimation  of  all  who  knew  him.  The 
royal  family  loved  him  with  a  genuine  devotion, 
and  he  was  one  of  the  most  trusted  advisers  they  ever 
had. 

He  had  been  largely  answerable  for  the  disastrous  result 
of  the  battle  of  Custozza  in  1848,  by  not  arriving  on  the 
scene  in  time,  and,  though  no  one  ever  dreamt  of  taxing 
him  with  it,  the  knowledge  of  his  responsibility  must 
have  helped  to  embitter  him. 

He  died  in  1872,  and  the  date  is  set  in  my  memory 
by  the  circumstance  of  a  ball  which  took  place,  that  eve- 
ning, at  the  Gavottis.  All  knew  that  the  poor  General 
was  ill,  but  no  one  expected  his  illness  to  end  so  suddenly, 
and  when,  in  the  evening,  the  news  came,  it  was  too  late 
to  stop  the  ball.  But  there  was  no  dancing,  because 
Princess  Margaret  sat  in  the  royal  apartment  with  her 
hostess  and  her  ladies,  and  sobbed  audibly  all  the 
evening. 

I  was  fond  of  the  General,  like  everybody  else,  but  I 
was  young  and  I  had  a  new  frock.  No  one  could  leave 
until  the  Princess  chose  to  pull  herself  together  and  make 
a  move,  or  I  would  have  slipped  away,  so  I  sat  and 
chatted  with  a  little  American  girl,  who  must  have 
thought  the  Romans  the  most  peculiar  people  in  the 
world.  Altogether,  it  was  one  of  the  most  dismal  eve- 
nings I  can  remember. 

It  is  curious,  when  one  comes  to  think  of  it,  that  De 
Sonnaz,  who  was  so  largely  instrumental  in  losing  Cus- 
tozza, should  have  lived  to  be  the  greatest  friend  and 

119 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

most  trusted  adviser  of  the  House  of  Savoy,  while 
Ramorino,  who  did  the  same  by  the  battle  of  Novara, 
should  have  been  shot  for  it  by  Victor  Emmanuel  as 
soon  as  he  came  to  the  throne  —  despite  the  lamenta- 
tions of  many  fair  ladies  in  Turin. 

In  1883  I  met  again  a  girl  (she  seemed  hardly  more 
then,  though  she  was  the  wife  of  Prince  Colonna  and 
the  mother  of  two  children)  who  had  been  an  adored 
friend  in  my  own  girlish  days.  Indeed,  one  of  the  most 
entrancing  figures  of  the  Rome  of  those  days  was  Donna 
Teresa  Caracciolo,  the  daughter  of  the  Neapolitan  Duke 
of  San  Teodoro.  Her  mother,  originally  an  English- 
woman, a  Miss  Locke  —  who,  after  the  Duke's  death 
married  Lord  Walsingham  —  had  found  Naples  un- 
congenial and  lived  partly  at  home,  in  England,  and  partly 
In  Rome  where  she  and  Teresa  rented  the  vast  state 
apartments  in  Polazzo  Buonaparte  from  my  god-father, 
Mr.   Hooker. 

I  first  remember  Donna  Teresa  at  a  ball  at  which,  as 
she  explained,  she  had  been  allowed  to  appear  as  a  great 
favour,  about  a  year  before  she  came  out;  a  radiant 
vision  of  happy  girlhood,  dressed  in  the  simplest  of  white 
frocks  with  a  spray  or  two  of  fern  upon  it  in  lieu  of 
flowers,  her  wonderful  pure  gold  hair  and  dark  eyes 
more  than  supplied  the  place  of  any  artificial  ornament. 
On  looking  back,  it  is  hardly  surprising  that  she  should 
since  have  occupied  so  melancholy  a  place  in  the  social 
chronicle  of  certain  circles  of  her  time.  All  else  apart, 
however,  it  can  be  said  of  her,  if  of  any  one,  that  "  none 
knew  her  but  to  love  her  "  —  for  hers,  indeed,  was  the 

120 


TYRANTS,    SOLDIERS,    AND    SAILORS 

*'  fatal  gift "  of  beauty  in  an  extraordinary  degree,  as 
well  as  a  captivating  charm  of  personality. 

She  and  her  mother  had  a  delightful  custom  of  receiv- 
ing their  friends  every  day  for  a  single  hour  from  two  to 
three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  Teresa  occupying  one 
drawing-room  with  her  particular  intimates  of  her  own 
age  and  interests,  and  the  Duchess  another  where  the 
elders  were  in  the  habit  of  foregathering  after  lunch 
before  separating  for  the  "  trottata  "  or  daily  drive.  At 
stated  intervals  of  the  year.  Donna  Teresa  used  to  leave 
Rome  on  a  visit  to  her  father,  San  Teodoro,  in  Naples, 
where  she  would  relapse  into  its  pleasure-loving  life  with 
all  the  zest  of  a  daughter  of  the  South.  Her  father, 
whom  some  one  with  the  Italian  inveterate  love  of  nick- 
names, christened  "  Santoto,"  took  no  interest  in  politics; 
but  his  grandfather  had  been  a  good  deal  concerned  in 
the  troublous  doings  of  old  King  Ferdinand's  reign  — 
and  that  as  a  courtier  of  poor  Murat's  —  so  the  marvel 
is  that  he  should  have  survived  the  ultimate  restoration  of 
the  Bourbons  at  all ! 

In  seeing  Donna  Teresa  sometimes  talking  with  a 
mutual  friend  of  us  both,  Donna  Laura  Minghetti  — 
Laura  Acton,  as  she  had  been  —  I  could  not  help  think- 
ing of  how  differently  their  respective  ancestors,  back 
in  the  dreadful  years  1 799-1 806,  had  stood  towards 
each  other;  Acton,  the  all-powerful  English  favourite 
of  the  ever-suspicious  and  timorous  King  Ferdinand  — 
and  San  Teodoro,  the  wily  opportunist,  who  was  only 
waiting  to  see  which  way  the  ultimate  victory  was  likely 
to   decide  before   committing   himself  as   a   partisan   of 

121 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

reaction  or  of  reform  within  the  State.  And  when  he  did 
decide  to  take  a  definite  stand  as  a  follower  of  Murat, 
San  Teodoro  naturally  put  his  money  on  the  wrong 
horse  —  to  use  a  slang  phrase  —  and  was  saved  only  by 
the  fact  of  his  rival,  Acton,  having  luckily,  for  San 
Teodoro,  died  in  Sicily  some  time  before  Murat's  down- 
fall. A  relative  of  San  Teodoro's,  however,  was  less 
fortunate;  I  refer  to  Admiral  Caracciolo,  the  intrepid 
comrade  of  Admiral  Hotham  in  the  victory  over  the 
French  in  1794,  and  who,  four  years  later,  in  1798, 
proved  himself,  perhaps,  the  first  seaman  of  his  time  in 
all  the  world,  —  certainly,  at  least,  so  far  as  the  actual 
handling  of  his  ship  was  concerned.  It  was  on  this  occa- 
sion that,  as  has  been  held  by  many,  he  aroused  against 
him  the  dislike  of  the  great  Nelson  by  his  astonishing 
skill  added  to  a  consummate  experience  of  his  native 
waters.  It  was  during  the  flight  of  King  Ferdinand  and 
Queen  Carolina  from  Naples  to  Sicily,  a  few  months 
after  the  battle  of  the  Nile;  the  royal  fugitives,  with 
their  family  and  possessions,  were  on  board  the  flagship 
in  Nelson's  own  charge,  followed  by  the  entire  Anglo- 
Neapolitan  fleet,  including  Carraciolo  in  command  of 
the  old  Minei-va  which  he  had  made  famous  by  his 
prowess.  No  sooner  had  the  fleet  reached  the  lower 
part  of  the  Tyrrhenian  Sea,  than  a  terrific  storm 
broke  loose,  scattering  the  vessels  and  obliging  many 
to  put  into  different  ports  as  best  they  could.  This  was 
not  the  case  with  Nelson,  who  stood,  resolutely,  on  his 
way  albeit  it  was  all  he  could  do  to  keep  off  the  rocky 
coast  of  Calabria  at  all.     At  last  a  moment  came  when 

122 


TYRANTS,    SOLDIERS,    AND    SAILORS 

his  distinguished  passengers  believed  themselves  to  be 
within  measurable  distance  of  eternity.  They  were  all 
sitting  together  in  the  main  cabin  of  the  ship  when  news 
of  their  danger  reached  them  —  the  King  and  Queen 
with  the  English  Minister,  Hamilton,  and  his  wife,  the 
lovely  Emma,  all  very  much  depressed.  "  It  is  my  belief 
that  we  shall  all  shortly  rejoin  my  son,"  remarked  the 
Queen,  thinking  despondently  of  the  infant  who  had  died 
in  Lady  Hamilton's  arms  a  few  days  earlier;  the  while 
her  husband  after  bestowing  a  glance  of  reproach  upon 
the  Queen  and  Sir  William  Hamilton  (as  though  they 
had  been  responsible  for  bringing  his  precious  person 
into  such  peril!)  applied  himself  to  prayer  and  to  asking 
pardon  for  his  sins  in  a  loud  voice.  The  others  watched 
him  apathetically  as  he  did  so. 

Suddenly,  somebody  (Lady  Hamilton,  I  would 
be  inclined  to  wager)  left  the  group  as  though 
bored,    and   went   over   to   one    of   the   ship's   windows 

—  it   was    before   the    age   of    portholes    in    the   cabins 

—  and,  looking  out,  gave  a  cry  of  surprise.  To 
the  astonishment  of  every  one,  a  man-of-war,  flying  the 
Neapolitan  colours,  was  seen  steering  securely  along  on 
her  course,  and  slightly  to  rearward  of  the  royal  vessel 
as  though  nothing  out  of  the  ordinary  were  taking  place. 
It  was  the  Minerva,  as  they  saw  presently,  riding  the 
waves  in  her  place  and  at  her  ease,  whilst  the  rest  of 
the  fleet  (including  Nelson's  ship)  was  being  tossed 
hither  and  thither  at  the  mercy  of  the  tempest.  The  King 
at  once  recovered  courage  at  the  sight  and  expressed  upon 
it  an  opinion  so  favourable  to  Caracciolo's  seamanship, 

123 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

that  Nelson,  to  whom  his  words  were  reported,  took 
umbrage  at  them  and  with  it  an  intense  antipathy  to  his 
more  skilful  colleague.  This  antipathy,  as  may  be  im- 
agined, was  not  lessened  when,  on  approaching  Sicily, 
Nelson  found  himself  compelled,  by  force  of  circum- 
stances, to  hand  over  the  conduct  of  his  ship  to  a  volun- 
teer pilot  who  had  braved  death  in  order  to  bring 
his  Sovereign  safely  into  port;  soon  after,  Caracciolo's 
vessel  came  in  precisely  and  unconcernedly,  as  though 
from  a  pleasure  trip,  to  the  further  mortification  of  the 
hero  of  the  Nile. 

I  can  scarcely  believe  that  Nelson,  usually  so  mag- 
nanimous, allowed  the  incident  to  weigh  against  his 
sense  of  justice  when,  in  the  following  year,  Caracciolo 
who,  in  the  meantime,  had  joined  the  rebels  in  Naples 
under  compulsion,  fell  as  a  prisoner  into  his  hands. 
Nevertheless,  it  would  almost  appear  as  though  he  lent 
himself,  on  Lady  Hamilton's  persuasion  (at  the  perfer- 
vid  instance  or,  rather,  command  of  Ferdinand  and  Caro- 
lina), to  the  repudiation  of  the  amnesty  guaranteed  to  the 
rebels  as  the  price  of  their  submission  and  the  surren- 
der of  the  city  on  the  day  prior  to  his.  Nelson's,  arrival 
there.  Also,  it  was  solely  by  Nelson's  orders  that 
Caracciolo's  trial  was  hurried  on  and  that  he  was  hanged 
without  even  the  chance  of  an  appeal  to  the  King,  or  the 
proper  examination  of  the  proofs  he  desired  to  proffer 
in  favour  of  his  innocence  of  the  crime  of  rebellion. 

The  Caraccioli,  however,  as  a  family,  were  not  free 
of  the  taint  of  treason  towards  their  Sovereign;  for  it 
was  one  of  them,  Nicolo  Caracciolo,  who  betrayed  his 

124 


TYRANTS,    SOLDIERS,    AND    SAILORS 

trust  as  Governor  of  the  castle  of  Saint  Elmo  —  the  key 
to  the  possession  of  Naples  —  by  treacherously  admit- 
ting the  French  who  were  besieging  the  city  under 
Championnet  in  that  same  bad  year  of  1799.  Nicole's 
brother,  though,  the  Duke  of  Roccaromana,  nobly  made 
up  for  Nicolo's  perfidy  by  his  leadership  of  the  loyal- 
ists of  the  city  in  the  subsequent  events.  It  has  always 
seemed  to  me  one  of  the  most  remarkable  of  facts  that 
during  the  entire  long  period  of  political  upheaval  in 
the  kingdom  of  Naples,  the  upper  classes,  generally 
speaking,  should  have  taken  the  side  of  the  French  in- 
vaders with  their  Republican  Doctrines,  whilst  the  mon- 
archy found  its  devoted  defenders  In  the  "  LazzaronI,"  the 
poor  and  uneducated,  but  loyal,  masses  of  the  people.  But 
it  must  be  acknowledged  that  there  was  little  to  choose  be- 
tween either  party  for  ruthless  savagery;  if  the  Laz- 
zaroni  were  guilty  of  such  atrocities  as  those  of  cooking 
and  devouring  the  bodies  of  their  victims,  as  well  as  of 
all  the  worst  horrors  of  brigandage,  their  opponents 
had  to  answer  for  massacre,  rapine,  and  pillage;  If  the 
names  of  Fra  Diavolo,  Sclarpa,  Rodio,  and  Mammone 
have  been  rightly  held  up  to  obloquy,  those  of  their  oppo- 
nents Watrin  and  Manhes  are  no  less  deserving  of  the 
same  fate.  Not  a  town  or  a  village,  for  mile  upon  mile 
throughout  Campania,  Apulia,  and  Basllicata,  without 
Its  doleful  memories  of  those  and  later  horrors;  as  well 
as,  in  many  cases,  actual  memorials  in  the  shape  of  rude 
crosses  by  the  wayside  or,  simply,  painted  on  the  walls 
—  the  mark  of  a  sudden  and  violent  death  in  the 
"  Regno." 

125 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

Of  Fra  Diavolo  and  his  colleagues  so  many  legends 
have  been  spread  abroad,  both  in  Italy  and  elsewhere, 
that  their  names  must  be  already  familiar  to  the  reader 
—  that  of  Fra  Diavolo  himself  particularly  so.  And 
not  without  reason;  for  seven  years,  this  man  whose 
name  was  Michele  Pezza,  a  native  of  Itri,  defied  the 
efforts,  both  of  foreign  invaders  and  domestic  rebels  and 
traitors  to  their  king,  to  capture  or  defeat  him.  Among 
his  colleagues,  too,  several  were  far  harsher  than  Fra 
Diavolo  in  their  treatment  of  such  opponents  as  fell 
Into  their  hands.  Gaetano  Mammone,  for  instance,  is 
said  to  have  murdered  whole  communities  in  his  mani- 
acal fury.  But  if  the  brigands  were  atrociously  cruel  — 
as  cannot  be  denied  —  their  adversaries  such  as  General 
Manhes,  were,  as  I  have  said  before,  equally  so. 

Manhes,  it  must  not  be  forgotten,  was  acting 
under  orders  from  Murat  as  King  of  Naples  from 
1806  onward;  and  It  was  in  accordance  with  a  law  of 
his  own  making  that  Murat  himself  was  put  to  death  In 
18 15.  Indeed,  one  cannot  help  thinking  that  many  of  the 
actors  In  the  orgy  of  bloodshed  which  reigned  In  the 
kingdom  of  Naples  for  some  twenty  years  were  hardly 
in  their  right  minds;  from  Prince  Canoza,  the  chief 
minister,  down  to  the  unjust  judges,  his  satellites,  Guido- 
baldi  and  Speciale,  —  the  latter  of  whom  died  a 
raving  lunatic.  Certainly,  Fra  Diavolo  and  his  kind 
were  better  men  than  these  —  having,  at  least,  the  merit 
of  risking  their  lives  In  active  combat. 

But  all  this  has  taken  me  away  from  the  Caraccloli. 
If  there  Is  one  distinction  of  which  certain  great  families 

126 


TYRANTS,    SOLDIERS,    AND    SAILORS 

of  Italy  have  a  right  to  be  especially  proud  it  is  that  they 
number  among  their  ancestors  men  and  women  who  have 
been  named  as  saints  by  the  Church.  This  was  the  case 
with  Donna  Teresa's  family  who  boasted  of  at  least  one 
such  forbear  in  the  person  of  Saint  Francis  Caracciolo 
canonised  by  Pius  VII  in  1807.  Saint  Francis  was 
one  of  the  founders  of  the  "  Minori  "  or  "  Clerks  Regu- 
lar Minor."  His  co-operation  in  this  undertaking  was 
brought  about  by  one  of  those  apparently  trifling  inci- 
dents—  the  accidental  opening  of  a  letter  intended  for 
another  but  addressed  by  chance  to  himself;  at  his  death 
In  1608  his  body  was  buried  in  the  Church  of  Santa  Maria 
Maggiore  in  Naples  not  far  from  that  of  Santa  Maria 
in  La  Catena  in  Santa  Lucia  where  poor  Admiral 
Caracciolo's  remains  were  hastily  flung  nearly  two  cen- 
turies later.  There  is  a  curious  story  in  connection  with 
the  Admiral's  obsequies.  After  hanging  for  some  hours 
at  the  yard-arm  of  the  Minerva,  his  body  was  taken 
down,  and  Nelson's  favourite,  Hardy,  himself  fastened 
a  fifty-two  pound  weight  to  the  feet;  it  was  then  cast 
into  the  sea.  The  next  day  King  Ferdinand,  leaning  over 
the  side  of  the  ship  which  had  brought  him  from  Sicily  and 
which  he  was  unwilling  to  leave  until  all  was  perfectly  se- 
cure on  land,  saw,  far  away,  a  figure  which  the  waves  were 
driving  towards  him.  As  it  came  nearer,  his  hair  began 
to  rise  upon  his  head  with  superstitious  terror;  what  he 
was  looking  at  was  a  human  corpse,  more  than  half  out 
of  the  water,  its  face  livid  and  menacing,  turned  up 
towards  his  own.  "Caracciolo!"  he  exclaimed;  and 
then,  turning  to  some  companions  near  by,  he  asked  them 

127 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

what  it  could  be  that  the  dead  man  wanted  of  him.  In 
answer,  one  of  the  bystanders  suggested  that  Caracciolo 
might,  after  all,  be  only  behaving  thus  by  way  of  estab- 
lishing his  claims  to  Christian  burial  —  for  which  the 
terrified  monarch  at  once  gave  his  permission ! 


128 


VI 

FRIENDS  AND   FRIENDLY   PLACES 

The  Cocumella,  a  Haven  of  Rest  —  Sorrento  Sailors  and  Their  Fantilies  — 
The  Influence  of  the  Religious  Sodalities  —  Faith's  Insurances —  On  the 
Crest  of  the  Pass  —  The  Road  to  Amalfi  —  Rival  Ports  —  Salerno  and 
the  Crusaders  —  An  Alarming  Journey  and  a  Considerate  Villain  —  The 
De  Raasloflf  Family  —  My  Friend  Anna — A  Bit  out  of  the  Bible  of 
Youth  —  Anna  in  Thuringia  —  The  Frau  Hof-Pastorin'  s  Convict 
Christmas  Party —  "  Beata  Lei!  " 

I  BELIEVE  It  has  usually  been  the  custom  to  count 
youth's  life  by  summers  —  that  of  maturer  persons 
by  winters,  but  in  looking  back  over  my  own  existence  the 
summers  stand  out  as  landmarks  still,  and  I  have  no  de- 
sire to  change  the  climate  of  my  memories.  The  month 
of  June  in  1883  must  have  been  a  very  lucky  one,  for 
it  made  possible  one  of  those  reunions  which  have 
been  so  rare  In  our  erratic  family  destinies.  My 
husband,  who  seemed  to  be  needed  only  when  the 
Ambassador  went  home  on  leave,  had  to  spend  a  good 
deal  of  the  time  in  Rome,  but  the  children  needed  a  few 
months  by  the  sea  and  we  decided  on  Sorrento  for  them 
and  myself,  Hugh  coming  down  for  a  day  or  two  when- 
ever it  should  be  possible.  Close  on  my  tracks  came  my 
brother  Marion,  also  longing  for  the  sea,  and  two  or 
three  weeks  later  my  mother  and  step-father,  with  my 
sister  Daisy,  joined  the  party,  so  that  the  Hotel  Cocu- 

129 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

mella  at  Saint  Agnello  was  fairly  full  of  our  clan.  The 
place  is  known  and  loved  by  many,  but  for  those  who 
know  it  not  let  me  say  something  about  its  strange  home- 
like charm,  so  that  if  ever  any  world-battered  pilgrim 
like  myself  dreams  of  rest,  he  may  realise  his  dreams 
in  that  remote  and  peaceful  haven.  The  "  Cocumella  '* 
(the  word  signifies  pumpkin  in  that  part  of  the  world) 
was  once  a  House  of  the  Jesuits,  and  though  they  have 
never  returned  to  it  since  Napoleon  turned  them  out, 
the  atmosphere  of  ascetic  calm  clings  to  it  still.  A  large 
three-storied  building,  honeycombed  with  terraces,  runs 
round  three  sides  of  a  stone  courtyard.  On  the  fourth 
is  a  low  wall  with  an  archway  in  the  centre  leading  down 
a  few  steps  to  a  long,  straight  path  that  runs  between 
clustering  orange  trees.  At  the  end  of  the  path  a  mimic 
redoubt  rises  against  the  sky,  and  when  you  have  climbed 
into  it  you  have  the  Bay  of  Naples  spread  out  before 
you  in  dazzling  beauty,  and,  some  two  hundred  feet 
below,  the  sunshot  waters  of  the  Mediterranean  lapping 
against  the  cliffs  and  spreading  laces  of  foam  over  the 
narrow  beach  that  the  cliffs  enclose  on  either  hand. 

There,  if  you  arrive  late  in  the  day,  you  will  pause, 
for  the  descent  to  and  ascent  from  the  shore  through 
dark  galleries  and  stairways  cut  in  the  rock  is  better 
suited  for  the  morning  than  the  evening  hours;  and  be- 
sides, a  summer  sunset  on  the  Bay  of  Naples,  however 
many  such  one  may  have  seen,  is  a  sight  to  watch  silently 
till  the  last  crimson  streamers  are  fading  into  purple 
and  the  "  moment  shuts  the  glory  from  the  grey."  Then 
turn   back  between  the   orange   trees,   inhale   the   moist 

130 


FRIENDS   AND    FRIENDLY   PLACES 

richness  of  the  dark  tossed  earth  about  their  roots,  and 
for  company's  sake  pluck  a  red  carnation  or  a  sprig 
of  verbena  from  the  side  of  the  path  and  mount  to  your 
own  quiet  apartment,  to  sit  on  the  terrace  and  watch 
the  stars  come  out  over  Naples  and  the  sea  —  and,  if  fate 
Is  kind,  see  a  great  full  moon  roll  up  into  the  sky  above 
the  crags  of  Monte  Sant'  Angelo. 

No  one  will  disturb  you  unless  it  be  "  Vincenzo " 
bringing  your  evening  meal  to  the  sitting-room  where  In 
old  days  some  Jesuit  Father  studied  and  prayed.  Above 
the  further  door,  carved  in  the  stone  niche,  is  one  word, 
**  Sllentio."  That  which  leads  to  the  bedroom  bears 
the  legend  '*  Contrltio,"  and  yet  another,  "  Dllectio." 
Silence,  contrition,  love  —  they  are  voices  from  another 
world,  and  the  rude,  hostile  noises  from  this  one  die  away 
in  one's  ears  and  the  heart  finds  peace.  By  and  by, 
when  the  dark  has  really  come,  the  delicate  tinkle  of  a 
mandolin  will  float  up  as  the  prelude  to  some  gay  old 
love  song,  sung  as  only  the  Sorrentini  can  sing,  the  rich, 
dancing  notes  coming  straight  from  the  unburdened 
heart.  It  passes  on  and  dies  away  —  and  down  among 
the  orange  trees,  or  In  the  Ilex  that  hangs  so  dizzily  over 
the  cliff,  a  nightingale  suddenly  fills  the  night  with  silver 
rhapsody. 

Look  for  your  worries  and  perplexities  then!  They 
are  gone  —  there  Is  no  yesterday  and  no  to-morrow  — 
the  peace  of  the  place  has  taken  you  to  itself  and  you 
can  lie  down  and  sleep  like  a  little  child. 

The  nights  are  generally  cool  even  in  the  great  heats 
of  summer,  but  I  remember  one  which  drove  me  out  to 

131 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

a  hammock  on  the  terrace.  There  was  a  moon,  and  the 
little  white  cat,  known  as  "  The  Principessa,"  that  my 
small  boy  had  brought  from  Rome,  came  and  lay  on  my 
feet  and  purred  fairy  stories  till  dawn.  The  "  Penisola  " 
is  full  of  fairy  stories.  Marion's  sailors  used  to  tell  them 
to  one  another  by  the  hour,  and  my  brother  at  last 
discovered  that  the  tales  were  actually  those  of  the 
Arabian  Knights,  with  Italian  personages  and  places 
substituted  for  the  Eastern  ones.  The  old  fellow  we 
called  "  San  Pietro  "  was  the  most  popular  raconteur, 
but  his  "  verve  "  failed  a  little  in  later  life  when  the 
others,  seeing  that  lonely  age  lay  before  him,  took  matters 
into  their  own  hands  and  married  him  to  a  respectable 
widow  woman  who  kept  him  clean  and  fed  him  well, 
but  who  did  not  bring  an  element  of  gaiety  into  his  simple 
existence.  The  others  all  married  early,  after  the  cus- 
tom of  the  country,  and  exercised  the  traditional  master- 
ship in  their  own  homes.  Woe  to  the  wife  who  had  not 
the  clean  clothes  laid  out  and  the  hot  foot  tub  ready  to 
bathe  her  lord's  feet  when  he  returned  from  his  day's 
work!  Also  a  properly  cooked  supper  with  a  fresh 
tablecloth  to  serve  it  on !  As  the  years  passed  by,  their 
families  grew  up  around  them,  bright,  handsome  boys 
and  girls,  contemporaries  of  my  brother's  children,  form- 
ing a  kind  of  clan  round  Villa  Crawford  and  connected 
with  us  all  by  the  tie  of  almost-relationship  which 
holds  from  generation  to  generation  between  masters 
and  servants  in  Italy. 

If  our  sailors  were  somewhat  tyrannical  at  home,  they 
were,    without   exception,   good   husbands    and    fathers, 

132 


FRIENDS    AND    FRIENDLY    PLACES 

sober,  kind,  and  devoted  to  their  families.  Indeed  the 
sea-going  men  were  a  race  by  themselves  and  far  supe- 
rior in  character  to  the  cultivators  of  the  soil.  The  sea- 
men mostly  had  traces  of  Saracen  ancestorship  which 
showed  itself  in  a  certain  proud  honesty  and  inde- 
pendence of  character  which  seems  wanting  in  the 
dwellers  on  land,  who,  my  brother  thought,  were  de- 
scended directly  from  the  slaves  and  dependants  of  the 
rich  Romans  whose  villas  dotted  all  this  side  of  the  Peni- 
sola  Sorrentina  before  the  destruction  of  Pompeii.  The 
great  landholders  of  this  district  were  the  Neapolitan 
Colonnas,  but  they  rarely  showed  themselves  there,  and 
the  most  influential  class  was  that  of  the  "  Bourgeoisie," 
the  prosperous  fruitgrowers  and  shipbuilders,  who  em- 
ployed much  labour.  Their  opinions  carried  the  day  in 
public  matters  and  their  modes  of  life  and  thought  were 
regarded  as  the  standard  for  the  entire  community.  Things 
have  changed  in  some  ways  now,  with  the  installation  of 
speedy  transit  and  the  consequent  influx  of  strangers  from 
places  possessing  no  standards  at  all,  but,  until  ten  years 
ago,  at  least,  I  can  testify  that  the  homes  of  the  well-to- 
do  small  owners  were  run  on  the  old  lines  with  all  the  old 
success.  The  many  children  were  taught  to  live  fru- 
gally, obey  and  help  their  parents,  and  love  their  reli- 
gion; to  fulfill  their  tasks  and  duties  from  the  highest 
of  motives  and  to  shun  bad  company  and  occasions  of 
sin.  The  whole  family  recited  the  Rosary  together  daily, 
and  took  joyous  part  in  the  various  religious  "  festas  " 
of  the  year,  the  occasions  which  in  that  happy  country 
supply    gaiety,     colour,     emulation,     music  —  even    the 

133 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

healthy  excitement  that  young  people  of  other  lands 
have  to  seek  In  society,  and,  too  often,  in  dissipation. 

Boys  and  girls,  young  men  and  maids,  matrons  and 
heads  of  families  all  belonged  to  one  or  other  of  the 
Sodalities  which  play  so  large  a  part  in  popular  life  in 
southern  Italy.  When  its  particular  patronal  Feast  is 
due,  the  Sodality,  whichever  it  may  be,  takes  entire  com- 
mand of  the  arrangements  and  decorations,  and  supplies 
the  necessary  funds.  And  a  Sodality  is  a  republic  gov- 
erned by  religion;  all  the  members  enjoy  equal  rights 
and  equal  respect;  the  rich  ones  give  generously;  the 
poor  contribute  according  to  their  means  in  money  and 
make  up  for  their  disabilities  in  that  respect  by  giving 
their  time,  and  by  taking  unlimited  trouble  over  the 
decorations,  which  are  elaborate  and  beautiful  in  the  ex- 
treme, while  all  the  other  Sodalities  turn  out  in  force 
to  join  in  the  procession  and  add  to  the  dignity  of  the 
ceremonial. 

Throughout  the  year  certain  members  of  the  Sodal- 
ity, generally  young  girls  of  irreproachable  character 
aided  by  some  pious  old  maid  —  and  there  is  quite  a 
sprinkling  of  these  in  our  Penisola  —  take  charge  of  the 
banners,  pictures,  and  sacred  images  which  belong  to  it 
and  which  are  brought  out  gleaming  and  fresh  to  be  car- 
ried in  the  procession.  These  caretakers  are  all  working 
people  depending  on  their  own  efforts  for  their  liveli- 
hood, but  there  never  seems  to  be  any  conflict  between 
their  work  for  themselves  and  their  work  for  the  glory  of 
God.  Of  course  competition  and  its  attendant  horrors 
of  "  sweating  "  are  unknown,  and  also  the  extreme  slm- 

134 


FRIENDS    AND    FRIENDLY    PLACES 

pliclty  of  living  and  the  luxuriant  richness  of  the  soil 
made  bread-winning  far  less  of  a  trial  to  them  than  to 
most  of  our  fellow-men.  Yet,  with  all  that,  one  cannot 
but  be  struck  by  the  simple  generosity  with  which  all  is 
given  so  gladly  and  smilingly  for  what,  in  the  North,  we 
should  call  an  impersonal  object.  The  self-denial  which 
refuses  all  unnecessary  outlay  in  table  expenses,  in  fur- 
niture, in  personal  adornment,  becomes  openhanded 
lavishness  where  the  honour  of  God,  or  of  Our  Lady 
and  the  Saints  is  in  question,  while  the  really  poor  and 
the  suffering  are  never  forgotten,  though  very  little  is 
said  about  what  is  done  for  them.  As  an  instance  of 
private  charity  I  will  mention  a  certain  family  of  ship- 
builders and  traders,  who  have  grown  very  wealthy 
through  the  industry  of  several  generations.  Their  big 
sailing  vessels  are  well  known  even  in  American  ports, 
where  they  land  their  cargoes  of  oil  and  oranges  and 
lemons.  From  father  to  son  one  rule  has  held  In  that 
family.  Every  time  they  send  a  vessel  to  sea  they  take 
the  sum  which  they  would  otherwise  have  paid  for  in- 
surance, and  give  it  to  the  poor.  They  have  never  lost  a 
vessel. 

To  return  to  the  Sodalities,  there  is  one  supreme  point 
to  be  marked  in  their  favour  —  that  of  the  high  charac- 
ter required  of  the  members.  No  drinker  or  gambler 
may  wear  that  honoured  badge ;  any  lapse  from  morality, 
any  breaking  of  the  commandments,  any  lightness  of 
conduct  or  disregard  of  family  duties  is  punished  with 
expulsion,  and  such  expulsion  would  entail  undying  dis- 
grace in  the  eyes  of  the  whole  community.    Could  merely 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

secular  associations,  however  respectable,  ever  exercise 
so  inspiring  and  restraining  an  influence  on  private  and 
public  life? 

The  organisation  keeps  the  people  in  close  touch  with 
the  Church,  makes  religion  not  a  mere  matter  of  duty, 
but  of  love  and  pleasure,  and  draws  all  classes  together 
with  bonds  that  defy  dissolution.  The  geographical 
position  of  the  little  peninsula  has  doubtless  contributed 
greatly  to  the  preservation  of  its  best  traditions.  The 
Piano  di  Sorrento,  with  its  redundant  richness  and  beauty, 
lies,  like  a  priceless  gem  in  a  strong  man's  treasure 
house,  guarded  by  rocky  walls  on  three  sides  and  afford- 
ing access  from  the  fourth  only  by  the  difficult  ascent 
of  the  cliffs  that  rise  sheer  from  the  sea.  When  I  first 
went  there,  as  a  little  girl,  we  had  to  take  a  rowing  boat 
at  Castellammare  and  skirt  the  coast  till  it  brought  us  to 
the  Sant'  Agnello  or  the  Sorrento  Marina,  and  provisions 
and  postal  matter  travelled  in  the  same  way.  Later  on 
the  present  magnificent  carriage  road  was  cut,  passing 
over  the  canyon-like  ravines  on  great  viaducts,  as  far  as 
Massa,  the  last  town  on  the  point  of  the  promontory 
which  divides  the  Bay  of  Naples  from  the  Gulf  of 
Salerno.  By  1883  the  road  had  been  continued  round 
the  point  and  along  the  southern  side  of  the  Peninsula 
as  far  as  Praiano,  whence,  to  reach  Amalfi,  one  had  to 
take  to  the  sea  again  for  an  hour  or  so.  At  my  next 
visit  some  six  years  later,  the  connection  with  Amalfi 
and  on  to  Salerno  was  completed,  and  the  whole  now 
affords  the  most  wonderful  drive  in  the  world,  I  think. 
Many  others  who   have   travelled   far   and  wide   have 

136 


FRIENDS    AND    FRIENDLY    PLACES 

agreed  with  me  on  that  point.  It  is  impossible  to  im- 
agine scenery  more  lovely  in  its  softer  aspects,  more 
grandiose  in  its  rugged  ones.  When  one  has  climbed 
the  hill  and  left  Massa  behind,  one  has  come  into  another 
country,  another  climate;  there  are  no  more  deep  vine- 
yards dropping  from  terrace  to  terrace  of  rich  dark  earth; 
no  more  orange  groves  or  lemon  nurseries  matted  from 
the  gales  and  sunk  deep  in  sheltered  ravines  to  preserve 
the  delicate  fruit.  This  side  of  the  Gulf  of  Salerno  faces 
due  south,  but  the  soil  lies  too  dry  and  loose  on  the 
scarps  to  afford  roothold  and  nourishment  for  those  ten- 
der and  hungry  trees.  On  the  small,  irregular  plateau 
that  marks  the  top  of  the  pass  the  olives  still  grow,  but 
scantily  and  timidly,  buffeted  as  they  so  often  are  by  the 
north  wind,  which  has  forced  them  all  to  lean  over 
towards  the  south,  as  if  looking  down  in  envy  at  the 
aloes  and  cacti  that  cling  to  the  sun-baked  rock,  the 
rock  that  forms  one  sheer  wall,  its  top  the  playground  of 
all  the  winds  of  heaven  —  its  base  lost  in  the  ever-mov- 
ing water  of  the  sea  below. 

I  know  of  no  place  on  earth  that  smells  sweeter  than 
that  rocky  crown.  It  is  as  if  from  the  beginning  of  the 
world  nothing  had  passed  or  grown  there  that  was  not 
supernally  clean  and  sweet — sweet  in  the  old  English 
sense  of  purity  and  haleness,  not  fragrant  at  all,  but  just 
life-giving  and  healing.  Bitter  clean  are  the  immortelles 
that  powder  the  rifts,  brave  and  fresh  the  scarce  purple 
blossoms  of  the  scabious  and  the  still  scarcer  ones  of 
the  yellow  saxifrage.  The  true  atmosphere  and  spirit 
of  the  sea  is  always  of  the  North;    to  that  one's  soul 

137 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

turns  blindly  in  moments  of  exhaustion  or  restlessness; 
here,  where  the  scents  are  all  of  the  North,  the  long, 
sharp  swords  of  the  aloes  and  the  prickly  shields  of  the 
cacti  that  guard  the  outer  edge  of  the  road  strike  a 
note  almost  of  discord  —  and  leaning  over  the  low 
parapet,  one  comes  back  from  some  long  unconscious 
dream  excursion  to  wonder  whether  one  is  in  Italy  or 
Algeria? 

One  glance  at  the  sea  below  is  all  that  is  needed  for 
the  mind's  orientation.  From  that  dizzy  height  one  looks 
down  into  clear,  unmeasured  depths  of  flooding  colour 
through  colour  that  we  have  no  adequate  name  for  here, 
a  blue  that  draws  every  tint  of  sky  and  air  above  to  it- 
self, and  binds  them  in  its  calm,  translucent  crystal  to  a 
living  tide  where  sapphire  pales  to  azure  shot  with 
emerald  —  azure  and  emerald  in  their  turn  deepen  to 
lapis  lazuli;  and  lapis  lazuli,  darkened  to  amethyst,  lies 
in  ever-narrowing  streaks  on  the  broad,  level  waters,  till 
far  across  the  gulf,  where  Circe's  mystic  promontory 
raises  its  outline  against  the  southern  horizon,  all  is 
merged  in  a  vast  unruffled  unity  of  heaven's  own  blue 
—  the  dream  flash  of  the  Kingfisher's  wing  painted 
broad  across  that  jewel  of  the  world,  the  Tyrrhenian 
Sea. 

As  one  drives  along  the  high,  winding  road  cut  in  the 
very  face  of  the  rock,  delving  far  inwards  where  some 
ravine  cleaves  the  coast  and  clinging  dizzily  to  the  outer 
edge  of  each  outstanding  grey  shoulder,  it  seems  as  if 
peace  must  have  brooded  over  these  places  from  the 
day  of  the  Creation;    but  in  truth  the  Gulf  of  Salerno 

138 


FRIENDS    AND    FRIENDLY    PLACES 

was  again  and  again  crowded  with  vessels  and  fighting 
men;  great  was  the  rivalry  between  the  cities  of  Amalfi 
and  Salerno  in  commerce,  In  shipbuilding,  and  especially 
for  the  honour  of  being  the  port  of  embarkation  for  the 
Crusades.  This  privilege  went  to  Salerno,  with  Its  wide 
harbour  and  low  shore,  and  bitterly  must  proud  little 
rockbound  Amalfi  —  the  sister  Republic  —  have  watched 
the  forests  of  masts  all  flying  their  red  cross  beside  the 
royal  emblem  of  France  or  England,  Austria  or  Spain, 
as  they  rocked  to  and  fro  over  there  at  the  head  of  the 
Gulf,  while  the  learned  University  town  Itself  was  over- 
run with  splendid  knights  from  every  quarter  of  Chris- 
tendom, ruffling  It  through  the  sunny  streets  with  crowds 
of  swaggering,  steel-clad  men  In  their  train.  There 
were  times  then  when  Salerno  was  the  gayest  and  most 
fashionable  place  In  Europe  —  but  It  took  these  transi- 
tory glories  soberly;  Its  Innkeepers  and  ship  chandlers 
certainly  fleeced  the  noble  Crusaders  of  much  money, 
and  doubtless  mourned  bitterly  when  crusading  went 
out  of  fashion,  but  the  rest  of  the  inhabitants  did  not, 
I  Imagine,  share  their  regrets.  The  sturdy  little  city 
had  Its  solid  sources  of  Income,  and  its  own  claims  to 
distinction  in  the  names  of  many  learned  men  who  had 
been  scholars  of  its  University;  and  the  period  of  Its 
decadence  must  have  been  a  very  quiet  and  undisturbed 
one. 

Now  It  Is  just  a  memory,  a  tiny  place  all  peace  and 
palm  trees  and  fishing  boats,  for  most  people  merely  pass 
through  the  station  where  they  leave  the  train  and  take 
carriage   for  Paestum,  the  dream  Temple  whose  white 

139 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

loveliness,  rising  from  Its  carpet  of  violets  that  send  their 
perfume  far  out  to  sea,  remains  through  life  in  one's  mind 
as  one  of  the  three  or  four  flawlessly  perfect  things  In  this 
fallen  world. 

My  first  visit  to  Salerno  came  about  in  this  wise.  A 
few  weeks  after  my  sister  Annie  had  married  Erich  von 
Rabe,  they  asked  me  to  go  down  to  Naples  and  spend  a 
little  time  with  them  there.  I  forget  how  I  got  to  Naples 
—  some  friends  of  course  took  me  under  their  wing  — 
but  on  arriving  I  found  our  "  Sposi  "  installed  in  a 
romantic  balconied  apartment  In  the  old  palace  of  Queen 
Joanna.  The  sea  lapped  three  sides  of  the  walls,  the 
balconies  looked  down  into  the  waves,  and  everything 
was  charming  —  only  I  discovered  at  once  that  in  spite 
of  sisterly  affection  and  the  sincerity  of  their  Invitation, 
It  was  too  soon  for  a  third  person  to  be  anything  but  a 
"  terzo  Incommodo  "  in  the  household.  My  dearest 
friend,  Anna  de  Raasloff,  was  at  Salerno  with  her  father 
and  mother,  and  I  wired  to  know  if  I  could  join  them. 
The  reply  took  the  shape  of  a  "  hurrah  "  —  for  Anna 
and  I  had  grown  very  close  to  each  other  all  through 
that  year,  and  both  our  destinies  were  on  the  point  of 
being  decided  just  then,  so  that  It  was  quite  a  grief  to  be 
separated.  I  was  madly  in  love  —  with  the  right  man; 
she,  poor  darling,  with  the  wrong  one;  both  of  us 
had  to  talk  or  die !  .  So  In  fear  and  trembling  at  my  own 
daring,  I  undertook  to  break  all  the  rules  and  travel 
across  to  Salerno  alone.  Erich  put  me  Into  the  train,  and 
a  heavy  tip  to  the  guard  was  supposed  to  ensure  my 
having  a  compartment  to  myself  all  the  way.     Only  a 

140 


FRIENDS    AND    FRIENDLY    PLACES 

girl  brought  up  in  Italy  could  understand  the  chill  of 
terror  that  overwhelmed  me  when,  at  the  next  station, 
the  door  was  flung  open  and  a  young  man  sprang  into 
the  carriage!  I  was  sure  my  doom  was  sealed  —  he 
would  either  kiss  me  or  cut  my  throat  long  before  the 
blessed  haven  of  Salerno  was  reached,  I  did  not  dare 
to  look  at  him  for  quite  an  hour,  and  then,  having  got  a 
stiff  neck  with  observing  the  landscape,  I  stole  a  glance 
at  my  companion,  where  he  sat  in  the  corner  farthest 
away  from  me.  He  was  a  quiet-looking  villain,  at  any 
rate,  with  dark  eyes  and  a  black  beard,  and,  though  he 
pretended  to  be  reading,  I  felt  that  he  was  watching  me 
as  closely  as  I  was  watching  him. 

The  evening  grew  cold  —  I  had  but  a  thin  town  frock 
on,  and  dared  not  close  the  window  for  fear  of  giving 
him  an  excuse  to  move  or  speak  to  me.  So,  for  another 
hour  I  sat,  shivering  visibly,  between  fright  and  cold  — 
and  then  I  almost  shrieked,  for  my  villain  jumped  up 
suddenly  and  began  fumbling  in  a  portmanteau  in  the 
net  above  his  head.  Was  he  going  to  produce  a  pistol? 
I  set  my  teeth  to  meet  my  end  like  a  lady;  and  then  the 
villain,  in  dead  silence,  came  over  to  my  corner,  shook  out 
a  splendid  great  Scotch  plaid,  and,  without  a  word,  pro- 
ceeded to  tuck  it  all  round  and  over  me  in  the  most  com- 
forting way,  closed  my  window,  and  went  back  to  his 
seat  without  having  even  looked  in  my  face.  One  feeble 
"  Thanks  "  was  all  that  I  could  find  to  say,  and  not 
another  word  was  exchanged  till  we  drew  up  at  the 
Salerno  station  where  my  friends  were  waiting  for  me; 
but  the  little  episode  cured  me  of  my  idiotic  terror  of 

141 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

solitary  travelling.  In  later  years,  when  I  have  had  to 
fly  across  the  world  alone,  with  all  my  money  and  valu- 
ables in  my  pocket,  I  have  found  it  prudent  to  carry  a 
little  Derringer,  four  inches  long  with  a  "41  "  bullet,  a 
thoroughly  satisfactory  weapon  at  close  quarters ;  I 
have  once  or  twice  had  to  let  people  catch  a  glint  of  the 
pretty  thing,  but  that  was  enough  —  thank  Heaven  I  have 
never  had  to  use  it.  My  youngest  son,  however,  took  its 
twin  brother  to  South  Africa  in  1899,  and  endorses  the 
merits  of  the  weapon — for  close  quarters  only. 

I  have  strayed  a  little  from  Salerno  and  certain  mem- 
ories for  which  I  plead  a  little  space  —  "  right  here,"  as 
my  Western  compatriots  say.  If  it  be  worth  while  to  tell 
what  one  remembers  about  names  known  to  all  the  world, 
it  is  also  worth  while,  in  the  best  sense,  I  think,  to  per- 
petuate the  rarer  memories  of  beautiful  characters  whose 
friendship  and  companionship  have  lightened  many  dark 
places  in  one's  life.  Friendship  was  a  virtue  of  the  gen- 
eration before  my  own;  modern  people  really  and  truly 
have  not  the  time  to  devote  to  the  slow-growing  beau- 
tiful thing  which  filled  such  an  honourable  place  in  chosen 
lives  in  those  days.  I  have  sinned  against  its  lovely 
codes  since,  innumerable  times,  myself,  but  in  spite  of 
personal  unworthiness,  some  friendships  that  I  inher- 
ited, and  some  that  came  to  me  out  of  the  blue,  have 
never  failed  me  once  in  all  the  years,  and  among  the 
foremost  cf  these  stands  that  of  the  De  Raasloff  family, 
though  but  one  of  the  original  members  of  it  now  re- 
mains—  with  me  —  on  this  side  of  the  "  Great  Divide." 

It  was  after  my  sister's  marriage  early  in   1874  that 

142 


FRIENDS    AND    FRIENDLY    PLACES 

these  enchanting  people  came  to  spend  the  winter  in 
Rome,  bringing  my  mother  a  letter  from  some  other 
Scandinavian  friends  who  had  been  our  intimates  some 
years  earlier.  We  had  a  natural  love  for  Scandinav- 
ians—  one,  our  old  music  master,  Raunkilde,  had  been 
almost  a  member  of  the  family  since  I  could  remember 
any  thing  at  all  —  and  we  were  prepared  to  receive  the 
De  Raasloffs  with  open  arms  in  any  case.  But  if  they  had 
come  from  another  planet  it  would  have  made  no  differ- 
ence; the  moment  we  met  it  was  love  at  first  sight  — 
love  for  the  splendid  handsome  old  General,  a  wit,  a 
raconteur,  a  "  charmeur "  who  could  have  broken  any 
woman's  heart  even  at  that  age;  love  for  his  dear 
motherly  "  grande  dame  "  wife,  and  love  above  all,  for 
their  daughter,  one  of  those  subtly,  inexplicably  fascinat- 
ing women  who  seem  born  to  bring  out  the  best  in  all 
with  whom  they  come  in  contact.  My  dear  Mother, 
who  certainly  spoke  with  authority,  defined  a  friend  as 
"  a  person  who  helps  you  to  the  best  in  yourself."  Anna 
de  Raasloff  would  have  taught  a  stone  how  to  love  — 
a  reptile  how  to  aspire.  She  came  to  me  just  at  the 
moment  when  life  looked  more  full  and  beautiful  than 
it  had  ever  looked  before,  when  I  had  a  right  to  be  inter- 
ested in  myself  because  the  only  man  in  the  world  was 
interested  in  me.  I  was  for  once  holding  out  my  arms 
to  all  that  was  good  and  high  and  lovely,  and  through 
those  perfect  months  my  Anna  was  my  other  wing!  To- 
gether we  soared  through  heavenly  places,  she  realising 
her  own  sorrow  in  my  happiness,  and  eventually,  I 
believe,  through  that  very  unselfishness,  finding  her  own 

143 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

—  which  had  been  waiting  for  her  with  quiet  faithfulness 
till  she  was  ready  to  appreciate  it. 

I  am  writing  these  words  in  my  own  month  of  April  on 
the  anniversary  of  the  crowning  day  of  my  life,  that  of  my 
engagement.  Thirty-seven  years  have  passed  since  then, 
and  I  am  the  only  one  left  to  remember  it,  but  nothing  that 
has  come  since  has  robbed  that  period  of  its  divine  perfec- 
tion, and  I  realise  now  how  much  was  added  to  it  by  that 
great-hearted  soul-sister.  Her  lovely  pale  face,  changing 
as  the  April  sky  and  the  lovelier  for  each  change,  her  great 
brown  eyes  radiant  with  love  and  courage,  the  very  wav- 
ing of  the  breeze  in  her  soft  golden  curls  —  it  all  comes 
back  to  me  like  a  bit  out  of  the  Bible  of  Youth,  a  verity 
of  love  and  understanding  tenderness  that  will  abide  with 
me  till  we  meet  again. 

Very  different  were  our  destinies.  She,  the  daughter 
of  one  of  the  most  prominent  men  in  Denmark, 
married,  a  little  later,  Arno  Trautvetter,  a  Lutheran 
clergyman,  with  whose  theology  I  had  no  sym- 
pathy, but  whom  in  every  other  way  I  admired  and  re- 
vered. With  him  she  spent  some  time  in  Egypt  where 
her  little  daughter  was  born,  and  then  they  went  home 
to  Rudolstadt  in  Thiiringen,  where  I  found  my  Anna 
fifteen  years  afterwards,  in  a  wonderful  old  German 
house  which  somehow  she  had  filled  from  roof  to  cellar 
with  her  own  serenely  untrammelled  cosmopolitan 
atmosphere.  She  was  as  young  —  younger  than  —  her 
own  daughter,  her  wide  sympathies  embraced  every  soul 
in  the  little  old  town,  from  the  reigning  Princess  (Arno 
was  the  royal  chaplain)  to  the  poor  prisoners,  for  whom, 

144 


FRIENDS   AND    FRIENDLY    PLACES 

just  before  I  arrived,  she  had  been  making  a  "  home  " 
Christmas,  such  as,  I  venture  to  say,  few  prisons  in  the 
world  have  ever  witnessed.  Taking  advantage  of  her 
husband's  official  position,  she  boldly  asked  that  all  the 
men,  whatever  had  been  their  crime,  should  be  handed 
over  to  her  for  that  one  evening,  in  the  great  hall  of  the 
prison,  without  the  restraining  presence  of  a  single  war- 
den or  official.  This  cost  her  a  battle,  but  she  won  her 
point,  and  then  (she  had  been  a  constant  visitor  to  all 
the  cells)  she  went  and  told  the  men  about  it,  appealing 
simply  to  their  sense  of  chivalry  —  not  dead  in  any  of 
them,  as  the  sequel  showed  —  to  justify  her  confidence 
in  them  and  make  no  trouble  of  any  kind.  They  knew 
and  loved  her  well;  for  years  she  had  done  everything 
she  could  to  lighten  the  lot  which  those  unfortunate  ones 
had  brought  on  themselves.  When  they  had  served  their 
time  it  was  always  the  "  Frau  Hof-Pastorin  "  who  helped 
them  to  regain  their  self-respect  and  find  means  of  earn- 
ing an  honest  livelihood,  and  so  many  of  her  efforts 
in  that  direction  were  crowned  with  success  that  we  all 
felt  sure  she  had  got  at  the  "  root  of  the  matter,"  when 
she  declared  that  the  hardened  criminal  Is  generally  an 
accident.  Once  sentenced  to  a  term,  long  or  short,  unless 
somebody  helps  him,  he  will  not  believe  in  the  possi- 
bility or  worthwhileness  of  becoming  a  decent  member  of 
society  again.  But  if  somebody  else  Is  evidently  convinced 
that  there  is  a  place  In  the  world  for  him  still,  he  very 
often  tries  to  fill  it. 

I  know  that  there  Is  nothing  In  the  least  original  In 
this  view  and  that  the  effort  has  been  made  by  many 

145 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

sincere  and  hard-working  people.  If  I  may  venture 
to  say  so,  I  think  its  constant  failure  in  England  and 
America  is  due  to  two  causes.  The  first  is  that  the 
liberated  prisoners  with  us  are  dealt  with  as  a  class  — 
whereas  it  is  only  by  an  appeal  to  the  individual,  lifting 
him  right  away  from  that  class,  that  such  cases  can  be 
effectually  reached;  the  second  is  the  enormous  flood 
of  criminal  literature  in  books,  magazines,  and  above  all, 
in  newspapers,  which  constantly  works  up  the  offender 
against  society  as  "  clever,"  "  bright,"  "  plucky,"  "  reck- 
less," etc.,  etc.  —  making  of  him  a  lurid  fascinating  hero 
who  appeals  irresistibly  to  the  excitable  imagination  and 
hunger  for  notoriety  which  form  such  a  large  part  of  the 
ordinary  criminal's  make-up.  A  wise  censorship  of  de- 
tective stories  and  police  news  would  relieve  both  Eng- 
land and  the  United  States  of  quite  half  the  burden  they 
now  carry  in  the  support  of  convicted  criminals.  There 
is  far  less  of  this  hideous  literature  abroad,  and  what 
there  is  comes  very  little  into  the  lives  of  the  lower 
classes,  where  life  is  much  harder  and  the  struggle  for  it 
more  absorbing  than  with  us. 

To  return  to  my  friend  and  her  Christmas  party  — 
it  proved  the  greatest  possible  success.  The  great  tree 
was  all  lighted  and  heavy  with  presents  —  tobacco  and 
sweetmeats  and  fruit,  and  little  gifts  of  socks  and  under- 
clothing for  each  man,  —  Anna  had  taken  the  greatest 
trouble  to  find  out  what  would  be  most  welcome  —  and  as 
they  filed  in  and  took  their  places  in  the  hall  she  herself 
was  sitting  at  the  harmonicum  and  started  one  of  the  old 
Christmas  hymns  that  every  man  there  must  have  heard 

146 


FRIENDS   AND    FRIENDLY   PLACES 

in  his  childhood.  In  a  moment  they  were  all  singing  it 
from  their  very  hearts,  and  she  told  me  that  when  she 
looked  round  she  saw  that  many  of  them  were  crying. 
More  hymns  followed.  Then  the  distribution  of  the 
gifts  with  cheery  talk  and  jokes  and  laughter  —  that  one 
little  golden-haired  woman  as  hostess  and  mother  and 
friend,  going  from  one  to  another  as  if  in  her  own  house 
among  the  most  spotless  lights  of  society  —  "And,  my 
dear,"  she  wound  up  by  telling  me,  "  they  not  only  be- 
haved well,  they  behaved  like  gentlemen  and  Christians! 
As  for  me,  it  was  the  happiest  evening  of  my  life!  I 
know  it  will  help  some  of  them  back  into  the  right  way." 
"  I  was  in  prison  and  ye  visited  Me."  My  Anna  went 
home  to  The  Heavenly  Prisoner  a  few  years  since. 
Beata  Lei  —  those  words  were  surely  said  for  her. 


147 


VII 

NORTH    OF    THE    ALPS 

A  Danish     Subaltern  —  The     Schleswig-Holstein     Riddle  —  De     RaaslofF 
Settles  the  Elsinore  Complication  —  The  Pitiful  Story  of  a  Young  Queen 

—  Von  Moltke's  Boyhood  —  A  Stem  Tutor — Too  Much  Goat  ! — A 
Nameless  Student  and  a  Gruesome  Parcel  —  Von  Moltke's  First  Sight  of 
the  Prussian  Army  Decides  His  Fate —  His  Long  Struggle  with  Poverty  — 
His  Patience  and  Perseverance  —  Discouragement  and  Projected  Emigra- 
tion to  Australia  in  Middle  Life  —  The  Emperor's  Attachment  to  Him 

—  Count  SeckendorfF  Makes  a  Little  Mistake  —  The  Crown  Prince's  Ser- 
vant—  "Nanti  Strumpf,"  the  German  Pasquino. 

THE  mention  of  General  de  Raasloff's  family  takes 
me  away  from  southern  Italy  for  a  while  and  back, 
to  a  host  of  widely  different  associations  connected  with 
northern  Europe,  namely  of  military  nature. 

General  de  Raasloff  himself  was  always  for  me  one 
of  the  strongest  links  between  my  own  day  and  that  of 
a  past  generation  which  had  witnessed  a  period,  In 
some  ways,  perhaps,  one  of  the  most  eventful  of 
European  history  —  that  following  upon  the  time  of 
general  political  reaction  which  had  succeeded  to  the  era 
of  the  first  Napoleon.  Beginning  his  career  as  a  subaltern 
of  artillery  in  the  Danish  army — although  a  Holsteiner  by 
birth  —  in  the  thirties  of  the  last  century,  De  Raasloff 
soon  began  to  look  about  him  for  a  chance  to  make  ex- 
perience of  actual  warfare  and  so  acquire  a  more  practical 
knowledge  of  his  own  branch  of  the  service.    The  chance 

148 


NORTH   OF   THE   ALPS 

came  to  him  in  1841  during  the  campaign  of  the  French 
against  Abd-el-Kader  in  Algeria;  having  obtained  ex- 
tended leave  of  absence,  De  Raasloff  became  attached  as 
a  volunteer  to  the  staff  of  the  Due  d'Aumale,  on  whose  side 
he  went  through  the  long  and  wearisome  campaign  which 
came  to  a  head  with  the  victory  of  General  Bugeaud  over 
Abd-el-Kader  at  the  river  Isly  in  August,  1844.  Prior  to 
this  my  friend  had  been  present  at  the  taking  of  the  Emir's 
great  camp  in  1843,  with  its  amazing  treasury  of  riches 
and  the  whole  of  Abd-el-Kader's  family  and  his  herds  of 
horses,  camels,  and  sheep.  That  was  in  the  days  when  the 
*'  Foreign  Legion  "  had  yet  to  make  Its  name  for  reckless 
courage  and  iron  discipline;  when  it  numbered  among  its 
members  such  men  as  MacMahon,  Negrier,  and  Chanzy 
—  together  with  the  unfortunate  Bazaine,  who  was  des- 
tined, later,  to  render  so  terrible  a  disservice  to  his  coun- 
try. The  glory  of  the  war  was,  however,  fearfully  tar- 
nished in  the  eyes  of  the  civilised  world  by  the  cruelty 
committed  on  a  party  of  Arabs  at  Zaatcha  by  General 
Pelissier.  They  had  taken  refuge  from  his  troops  in  a 
cave,  and,  on  being  summoned  to  come  out  and  surrender, 
refused;  whereupon,  he  had  the  mouth  of  the  cave 
stopped  up  with  brushwood  which  was  then  set  alight. 
It  ended  in  the  suffocation  of  the  miserable  Arabs  to  the 
number  of  five  hundred  or  so,  men,  women,  and  children. 

This  atrocity  was  repudiated  by  the  French  people  and 
Government,  but  was  excused  by  Bugeaud,  who  even 
procured  promotion  for  his  subordinate  as  a  reward  for 
the  affair. 

It  was  about  that  time,  too,  that  Pelissier  distinguished 

149 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

himself  in  another  way.  Entering  a  restaurant,  one  day, 
in  Algiers,  he  ordered  a  particular  kind  of  omelette  for 
his  lunch  —  an  omelette  Tartare,  if  I  remember  rightly. 
When  it  was  brought  to  him,  to  his  fury  he  saw  that  the 
sauce  had  been  poured  beforehand  over  the  omelette 
—  for  it  happened  that  he  preferred  to  season  it 
himself.  After  heaping  abuse  on  the  waiter,  there- 
fore, Pelissier  wound  up  by  throwing  the  whole,  dish  and 
all,  in  the  man's  face.  Instantly,  however,  the  General 
found  himself  seized  in  a  grasp  of  iron  and  being  punished 
as  though  he  were  a  naughty  boy.  When  the  waiter 
had  finished  with  him,  moreover,  in  order  to  make  a 
thoroughly  good  job  of  it,  he  threw  the  bruised,  half- 
throttled  Pelissier  out  into  the  street.  The  next  day,  how- 
ever, Pelissier  made  his  appearance  at  the  same  restaur- 
ant —  to  the  amazement  of  those  who  had  witnessed 
the  scene  of  the  previous  noon  —  as  though  nothing  had 
happened.  Seating  himself,  he  ordered  the  same  dish 
of  the  same  waiter  and  this  time  the  omelette  was  brought 
to  him  with  the  sauce  in  a  separate  vessel  and  he  re- 
ceived it  with  a  word  of  thanks.  Taking  a  louis  d'or  from 
his  pocket  he  handed  it  to  the  waiter.  "  Take  it,"  he 
said,  smiling.  "You  have  earned  it,  my  friend  —  yes- 
terday, for  the  first  time,  I  met  my  match !  "  Which 
was  much  to  his  credit,  it  seems  to  me ! 

General  de  Raasloff's  next  experience  of  warfare 
came  soon  after  his  return  to  Denmark,  when,  on  the 
death  of  King  Christian  VIII,  the  great  question  of  the 
succession  to  the  territory  of  Schleswig-Holstein  burst 
upon  an  unready  world.    To  this  day  that  same  question 

150 


NORTH   OF   THE   ALPS 

is  a  favourite  one  of  the  worthies  appointed  to  examine 
candidates  for  the  Diplomatic  Service.  It  was  Lord  Pal- 
merston  who,  in  after  years,  said  of  it  —  "There  are, 
or  were,  three  persons  who  really  knew  the  rights  of  the 
Schleswig-Holstein  question;  one  was  the  Dowager 
Queen  of  Denmark;  God  Almighty  is  another,  and  the 
third  is  a  German  professor — and  he's  gone  mad!" 
The  Danes  said  that  the  Duchies  were  an  inseparable 
part  of  Denmark,  and  the  Schleswig-Holsteiners  them- 
selves, a  German-speaking  people,  declared  themselves 
to  be  Germans  and  the  subjects  of  the  German  Duke  of 
Augustenburg.  The  Germans  promptly  came  to  their 
help  against  Denmark;  but  not  before  the  Danes  had 
inflicted  a  severe  defeat  on  the  Holsteiners  at  Flensborg. 
This  success  was  countered,  however,  by  the  Germans 
under  Wrangle  and  Halkett  in  a  second  battle  on  April 
23,  1848,  in  which  the  Danes  —  outnumbered  by  more 
than  two  to  one  —  were  compelled  to  fall  back  towards 
Denmark.  Suddenly,  the  Germans  received  orders  from 
Berlin  to  retire  southward,  and  the  first  part  of  the 
war  came  to  an  end  with  the  seven  months'  truce  of 
"  Malmo."  It  began  again,  though,  the  next  year,  and 
lasted  until  the  decisive  victory  of  the  Danes  over  the 
Holsteiners  at  Fridericia  in  July,  1849.  There  followed 
a  treaty  of  peace  with  Prussia,  who  had  hitherto  been 
helping  the  insurgents;  and  then  the  latter  were  finally 
defeated  signally  at  Idstedt  by  General  Krogh  —  after 
which  the  vexatious  "  Question  "  remained  in  abeyance 
until  1864!  De  Raasloff,  who  had  distinguished  him- 
self by  his  handling  of  his  battery  on  every  possible 

151 


RExMLXISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

occasion,  resigned  his  commission  after  the  battle  of 
Idstedt  in  the  supposition  that  there  would  be  no  recur- 
rence of  active  service,  and  came  to  America  in  search 
of  fresh  fields  for  his  abilities  —  to  his  subsequent  re- 
gret, I  have  no  doubt,  when  war  broke  out  again  a  few 
years  later.  His  interest  in  the  affairs  of  his  country 
had  by  no  means  diminished,  however;  and  it  was  by 
his  advice  that  the  vexatious  problem  of  the  dues,  paid 
by  every  passing  ship  to  the  Castle  of  Elsinore  on  enter- 
ing the  Sound,  was  solved  by  the  Danish  authorities'  ac- 
ceptance of  a  lump  sum,  instead,  from  the  seafaring 
nations.  After  being  successively  Consul  General  in 
New  York  and  Minister  Plenipotentiary  in  Washing- 
ton, he  went  home  to  take  over  the  Portfolio  of  War 
in  the  Ministry  of  Count  Fries,  after  the  war  with 
Prussia.  This  post  he  held  until  1870,  when  the  refusal 
by  Denmark  to  ratify  the  sale  of  its  West  India  Islands 
to  the  United  States  placed  him  in  the  position  of  having 
to  resign,  as  a  protest  against  the  action  of  his  Govern- 
ment. Thereupon,  he  was  sent  as  a  special  envoy  to 
China  where  I  met  him,  in  Pekin.^ 

His  reminiscences  covered  an  immense  ground,  seeing 
that  among  the  Danish  society  of  his  youth  there  were  still 
living  elderly  persons  whose  recollections  went  back  sixty 
years  and  even  more,  to  the  early  days  of  King  Christian 
VII  and  the  terrific  drama  of  his  luckless  consort,  Queen 
Caroline  Mathilda.  There  are  few  episodes  in  modern 
history  with  quite  the  same  poignant  horror  as  that  of 
poor,  pretty,  foolish  but  innocent  Caroline  Mathilda  and 

'  See  "  A  Diplomatist's  Wife  in  Many  Lands." 


NORTH    OF   THE   ALPS 

her  husband's  wicked  step-mother,  JuHana  Maria  of 
Brunswick. 

The  situation  between  the  two  women  was  quite 
clear  from  the  first;  on  the  one  side  was  Juliana  Maria 
with  her  young  son,  Frederick,  whose  accession  to  the 
throne  was  the  one  purpose  of  his  mother's  existence;  on 
the  other  was  the  young  King  (the  son  of  Juliana 
Maria's  husband,  by  that  monarch's  first  wife,  Louisa 
of  England)  and  his  girl-wife,  Caroline.  The  King, 
who  was  feeble  both  in  mind  and  body,  detested  his 
strong-willed  step-mother  and,  for  all  Juliana  Maria's 
caution,  suspected  her  intentions  towards  himself  from 
the  first  moment  of  his  accession  to  the  throne  as  a  boy 
of  seventeen.  Thus,  he  dismissed  from  his  service  all 
who  had  enjoyed  the  Queen  Dowager's  favour  during 
the  late  reign  and  gave  their  posts  to  favourites  of  his 
own  choosing.  The  chief  power  in  the  kingdom  fell  into 
the  hands  of  a  certain  Count  Hoik  —  about  as  evil  a 
liver  as  any  on  record,  by  all  accounts. 

When  in  1768,  the  King  (already  half  an  imbecile, 
thanks  to  the  vicious  habits  he  had  learned  from  Hoik  who 
had  apparently  been  acting,  throughout,  in  perfect  under- 
standing with  the  Queen  Dowager)  made  a  tour  of  the 
European  courts,  a  certain  Doctor  Struensee  was  ap- 
pointed to  accompany  him  as  his  physician.  Struensee 
soon  came  to  acquire  a  boundless  influence  over  the  King 
(who  was  now  frightened  at  his  own  mental  and  physical 
condition),  by  repairing  to  some  extent  the  ravages  of 
his  previous  dissipations.  In  the  end,  Struensee  replaced 
the  worthless  Hoik  in  the  monarch's  esteem,  and  induced 

153 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

the  latter  to  recall  to  power  one  of  his  exiled  ministers, 
Count  Rantzau-Ascheberg  whom  Struensee  had  met  in 
Paris  and  whom,  I  take  it,  he  thought  to  use  as  an  inter- 
mediary between  himself  and  Queen  Juliana  Maria — and 
so  make  to  himself  "  friends  of  the  Mammon  of  Unright- 
eousness "  in  case  he  should  lose  the  favour  of  his  fickle 
master  at  any  time. 

With  Rantzau  returned  another  exile,  Count* 
Brandt,  destined  to  become  Struensee's  "  ame  damnee." 
At  once  Struensee  set  himself  to  gaining  the  confi- 
dence of  Queen  Caroline,  and  before  long  he  had  ac- 
quired a  complete  ascendency  over  her.  In  1771  he 
became  practically  omnipotent  in  Denmark,  through  being 
created  the  head  of  the  Council.  But  his  enjoyment  of 
power  did  not  last  for  long.  With  his  success,  Struen- 
see's pride  and  insolence  increased,  until  he  had 
antagonised  all  his  supporters;  also,  he  was  openly  irre- 
ligious and  made  no  pretence  of  concealing  his  contempt 
for  the  national  ways  and  prejudices.  Moreover,  it  was 
whispered,  he  was  enriching  himself  at  the  expense  of 
the  heavily  taxed  people  under  his  rule. 

At  length,  in  January  of  the  next  year,  1772,  the  Queen 
Dowager's  opportunity  for  ruining  Queen  Caroline  pre- 
sented itself.  It  chanced  that  Rantzau-Ascheberg,  among 
others,  had  sickened  of  Struensee's  arrogance ;  and  to  him 
the  Dowager  joined  herself  and  her  son  Frederick,  — 
styled  by  his  parasites  "  Le  Prince  Heritier,"  —  in  spite 
of  the  fact  that  the  King  had  a  son  by  Queen  Caroline. 
Brandt's,  I  fancy,  was  the  master  mind  which  supplied 
the  Dowager  with  her  truly  diabolical  plan  of  campaign. 

154 


NORTH    OF   THE   ALPS 

Together  with  some  others,  the  two  worthies  forced  their 
way  into  the  King's  bedroom,  late  in  the  night  of  Jan- 
uary 1 6th,  and  persuaded  him  to  sign  a  warrant  for  his 
wife's  arrest  and  that  of  Struensee  on  an  infamous  charge 
of  wrongful  intimacy  between  them.  Brandt  was  also 
included  in  the  warrant  which  was  carried  out  at  once. 

There  had  been  a  great  Court  Ball,  that  night  and  poor 
little  Caroline  had  been  dancing  there  with  the  Dowager's 
son,  Prince  Frederick,  who  was  soon  to  help  in  bringing 
about  her  downfall.  One  can  imagine  her  consternation 
then,  on  being  awakened  at  three  o'clock  of  a  midwin- 
ter's morning  by  a  lieutenant  of  Guards  with  a  file  of 
soldiers  at  his  back,  and  being  commanded  to  rise 
and  dress  herself  instantly  in  preparation  for  a  journey. 
She  had  no  choice  but  to  obey.  Having  thrown  on  what 
clothes  first  came  to  hand.  Queen  Caroline  was  taken 
down  to  where  a  closed  coach  was  awaiting  her  in  a  court- 
yard, and  driven  off  to  the  Castle  of  Cronborg,  near 
Elsinore.  Although  she  entreated  for  permission  to  say 
"  Good-bye  "  to  her  children  (the  elder,  a  boy,  was  only 
three  years  old,  and  the  younger,  his  sister,  being  still  a 
baby  in  long  clothes)  it  was  refused.  She  never  set  eyes 
on  either  of  them  again.  Had  It  not  been  for  her  brother, 
our  own  good  old  George  III,  there  Is  no  saying  to  what 
kind  of  a  fate  she  might  not  have  been  subjected. 
Thanks,  however,  to  his  intervention,  his  sister's  life  was 
spared  and  she  was  handed  over  to  his  care.  She  was 
taken  In  a  British  warship  to  Hanover  where  she  spent 
the  rest  of  her  days  —  three  lonely  years  —  at  Zell,  de- 
voting herself  to   works   of  charity.      Needless   to   say, 

^S5 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

she  was  completely  innocent  of  the  charges  made  against 
her. 

In  the  meantime,  Struensee  and  Brandt  had  been 
tried  for  high  treason;  it  having  been  found  impossible 
by  other  means  to  establish  their  guilt  and  that  of  the 
Queen,  Struensee  was  put  to  the  torture  with  the  result 
of  extorting  from  him  a  so-called  "  confession  "  in  which 
he  had  the  weakness  to  implicate  Caroline  Mathilda. 
This,  however,  did  not  save  him  from  the  savagery  of  his 
enemies,  and  he  and  Brandt  were  put  to  death  on  April 
28,   1772,  under  circumstances  of  hideous  barbarity. 

But  to  return  to  more  cheerful  subjects.  A  compatriot 
of  General  de  Raasloff's  whom  I  first  met  about  that 
time  was  the  Danish  Minister  in  Rome,  M.  de  Heger- 
mann-Lindencrone,  who  had  married  Mrs.  Moulton, 
the  widow  of  Charles  Moulton  of  Paris,  formerly 
Miss  Greenough  of  Cambridge,  Massachusetts.  I 
think  the  Hegermann-Lindencrones  must  have  been 
quite  one  of  the  handsomest  couples  in  Europe  — 
certainly  of  my  acquaintance.  They  were  both  such 
perfect  types  of  different  kinds  of  beauty  —  he  of  the 
real  Viking  stock,  tall  and  splendidly  built  with  real  sea- 
blue  eyes;  and  she  of  that  magnolia-like  loveliness,  the  es- 
pecial inheritance  of  not  a  few  of  the  women  of  her  coun- 
try. Not  only  were  she  and  her  husband  good  to  look 
upon,  but  the  most  delightful  of  good  company  as  well. 
As  all  the  world  knows,  Mrs.  Moulton,  as  she  had  been, 
formerly,  was  the  fortunate  possessor  of  a  truly  divine 
voice,  one  capable  of  both  bringing  tears  into  the  eyes 
of  a  demon  and  of  filling  the  saddest  of  hearts  with  a 

156 


NORTH   OF   THE   ALPS 

flood  of  radiance.  Her  father-in-law,  General  Heger- 
mann-Lindencrone,  was  a  life-long  friend  of  Moltke, 
who,  with  his  elder  brother,  Fritz,  as  boys  at  the  Land- 
kadetten  Akademie  of  Copenhagen,  had  been  wont  to 
spend  their  Sundays  with  the  Hegermann-Lindencrone 
youngsters  at  their  father's  estate  near  the  city. 

Moltke  always  spoke  with  great  gratitude  of  those 
happy  hours,  the  only  exception  to  the  dreariness  of  his 
existence  at  that  period.  For  the  two  Moltkes  had  been 
placed  by  their  father  "  en  pension  "  in  the  house  of  an 
elderly  Danish  soldier,  a  certain  General  von  Lorenz, 
an  old  bachelor  with  ideas  of  his  own  as  to  the  upbring- 
ing of  small  boys.  Indeed,  he  appears  to  have  ruled  his 
charges  with  an  iron  hand;  and  yet  there  was  a  certain 
rough  and  ready  equity  in  his  methods.  An  instance  of 
this  occurred  when  his  only  pet,  a  tame  goat,  was  acci- 
dentally injured  by  one  of  the  brothers  so  that  it  had  to 
be  destroyed.  The  General,  thereupon,  pronounced 
sentence  on  the  delinquents  —  economy  going  hand  in 
hand  with  stern  justice.  The  goat  was  duly  consigned 
to  the  kitchen;  and,  so  long  as  a  particle  of  it  remained, 
the  boys  got  nothing  else  to  eat.  It  must  have  lasted  them 
some  weeks  —  to  their  own  disgust  and  their  gaoler's 
complete  satisfaction! 

I  trust  it  will  not  be  taken  amiss  by  my  readers  if  I  in- 
vite them  to  accompany  me  a  little  way  along  the  road  of 
Moltke's  youth?  —  Personally,  I  confess  to  an  absorb- 
ing interest  in  all  that  concerns  the  young  days  of  the 
Hegermann-Lindencrones'  illustrious  friend. 

Prior  to  their  stay  in  Copenhagen  —  where  they  were 

157 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

being  prepared  under  Colonel  Glode  du  Plat  at  the 
*' Akademie  "  for  entrance  into  the  Danish  army  —  the 
future  victor  of  Sedan  and  his  brother  had  received  the 
elements  of  their  education  at  the  hands  of  a  clergyman, 
Pastor  Knickbein,  at  Hohenfeld  in  Holstein.  This  same 
clergyman,  it  was,  by  the  way,  who  afterwards  officiated 
at  the  marriage  of  Helmuth  von  Moltke  (the  field- 
marshal,  then  a  major)  to  Mary  Burt,  an  English  girl, 
on  April  20,  1842.  While  at  Hohenfeld,  the  lad  used  to 
employ  his  spare  time  in  the  construction  of  a  miniature 
fortress,  for  which  his  father  presented  him  with  a  brace 
of  toy-cannon.  Little  did  the  schoolmates,  playing  to- 
gether of  a  Sunday  in  General  Hegermann-Lindencronc's 
garden,  a  hundred  years  ago  now,  foresee  the  day  when 
two  of  their  number  would  be  engaged  in  actual  warfare 
on  opposite  sides  —  in  1864,  when,  after  more  than  half 
a  century  had  rolled  away,  Helmuth  von  Moltke  con- 
ducted the  war  to  a  successful  issue  for  the  Prussians 
against  the  Danes  in  whose  army  General  C.  D.  Heger- 
mann-Lindencrone  held  a  command  operating  in  Jutland. 
It  was  in  the  course  of  that  same  war,  moreover,  that  an 
early  friend  of  them  both,  General  du  Plat,  was  destined 
to  meet  his  death  on  the  Danish  side  in  the  fight  for  pos- 
session of  the  wind-mill  at  Diippel  on  April  i8th.  Du 
Plat  was  the  son  of  the  former  head  of  the  Land-kadetten 
Akademie,  Moltke's  first  military  instructor. 

In  1 8 13  the  two  young  Moltkes  were  fetched  home  on 
a  holiday  to  Augustenburg  in  Holstein  by  their  father, 
now  the  Commandant  of  Kiel  and  soon  to  be  promoted  to 
the   rank   of   lieutenant-colonel   for   his   services   against 

158 


NORTH   OF   THE   ALPS 

the  future  sovereign  of  his  son,  Frederick  William 
III  of  Prussia.  The  case  of  this  same  Colonel  Baron 
Moltke  is  too  typical  of  the  European  situation  of  Napo- 
leon's day  to  be  passed  over  without  a  few  words  of  com- 
ment. Born  at  Samov  in  Mecklenburg,  Baron  Moltke 
entered  the  Prussian  army  at  the  age  of  thirteen  in  1781 
as  "  an  ensign  "  in  the  Mollendorff  regiment.  From  that 
service  he  retired  on  his  approaching  marriage  with  Fraii- 
lein  Henrietta  Paschen  whose  father  had  insisted  upon 
Moltke's  return  to  civil  life  as  a  condition  of  their 
union. 

After  a  few  years,  in  1805,  the  young  husband  became 
a  Danish  subject  through  his  purchase  of  the  estate  of 
Augustenhof  in  Holstein.  And  now  a  series  of  misfor- 
tunes combined  to  change  his  way  of  life.  Whilst  he  was 
engaged  in  building  a  house  for  his  family  at  Augustenhof, 
the  town  of  Liibeck  (where  his  wife  was  awaiting  with  her 
children  the  completion  of  the  new  home)  became  the 
scene  of  desperate  fighting  between  the  French,  and  the 
Prussians  of  Bliicher's  and  Torek's  commands.  Eventu- 
ally Liibeck  was  taken  by  storm  and  plundered  by  the 
French  during  three  days  and  nights.  As  a  result,  the 
Moltkes  lost  almost  all  their  personal  belongings.  But, 
worse  was  to  follow.  At  Augustenhof  a  great  part  of  the 
stock  died  of  disease,  and  the  house  itself  was  completely 
destroyed  by  fire,  that  same  year.  Thereupon,  Baron 
Moltke  determined  to  try  his  luck  once  more  at  soldiering, 
—  since  farming  was  out  of  the  question  without  a 
larger  capital  than  his  misfortunes  had  left  him.  The 
country  happened   to   be   at  war   again   with   England, 

159 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

so  that  he  had  no  difficulty  in  getting  himself  appointed 
to  a  command.  It  was  while  serving  thus  in  the  capacity 
of  a  Danish  officer  that  he  took  part  in  the  suppression  of 
Schill's  heroic  but  ill-fated  attempt  to  raise  Prussia 
against  the  French  invaders  in  1809.  A  strangely  disagree- 
able business,  this  same  hunting  of  Schill  by  the  Danish- 
Dutch  auxiliaries  of  Napoleon.  Which  of  us  has  not 
been  haunted  by  the  picture  of  the  post-house  eating-room 
in  that  rainy  twilight  at  Warnemiinde?  —  the  German 
youth  upon  his  "  Wanderjahr"  travels,  and  the  military 
stranger  who  sits  at  table  with  him  in  the  dusk  —  the 
stranger's  affability  as  he  tells  of  how  Schill  has,  "  Yes, 
really  been  caught  and  killed." 

"See,"  —  and  he  shows  him  a  ring — "this  was  his. 
And  — "  but  he  says  no  more,  seeing  that  the  other's 
eyes  are  wandering  to  a  certain  modest  parcel  on  the 
floor,  half  hidden  by  the  stranger's  cloak.  Not  until  later, 
long  after  the  two  have  parted  on  their  separate  ways, 
does  our  youth  learn  how  Schill's  head  had  been  severed 
from  the  body  by  a  surgeon  and  thus  dispatched  to  the 
Library  of  the  University  of  Leyden ! 

The  future  field-marshal's  mother,  Frau  von  Moltke, 
must  have  been  a  woman  of  no  ordinary  kind.  Certain 
it  is  that  to  her  own  radiantly  persevering  character  more 
than  to  any  outside  cause  was  due  what  share  of  happi- 
ness she  enjoyed  after  the  first  few  years  of  married  life. 
Her  children  were  devoted  to  their  mother  and  she  to 
them;  but  between  the  husband  and  wife  a  gradual  pas- 
sive estrangement  seems  to  have  ensued  upon  Baron 
Moltke's  entry  into  the  Danish  service.  Their  individuali- 

160 


NORTH   OF   THE   ALPS 

ties  were,  if  anything,  too  self-reliant,  too  positive  and 
energetic  to  need  sympathy  of  one  another.  In  both  the 
idea  of  duty  was  paramount;  neither  ever  flinched  from 
any  call  that  it  could  make  upon  them.  Had  either  been 
weaker  they  might  both  have  been  happier  in  the  human 
sense.  As  it  was,  they  lavished  their  energies  upon  helping 
the  feebler  ones  about  them  to  fight  the  battle  of  life 
without  a  thought  to  self  —  with  the  inevitable  conse- 
quence that  the  truth  of  the  Italian  proverb  was  only  too 
amply  vindicated  in  the  lives  of  both  —  "  He  who  makes 
himself  honey  gets  himself  eaten." 

The  year  1813  was  marked  for  the  Moltke  family 
by  various  events.  In  the  early  spring  came  news  of 
the  death  of  an  uncle  —  Major  Helmuth  von  Moltke, 
brother  of  the  Baron  —  from  wounds  and  starvation  in 
the  retreat  through  Russia,  whither  he  had  gone  with  the 
Mecklenburg  contingent  of  Napoleon's  army,  the  pre- 
ceding summer.  Soon  after  bringing  the  Major's  name- 
sake, young  Helmuth,  and  his  brother  Fritz  home  from 
Copenhagen,  their  father  was  called  away,  once  more, 
to  take  command  of  the  Danish  advance-guard  attached 
to  the  French  Marshal,  Davoust's,  force  operating  against 
the  Prussians  and  Russians  near  Ratzeburg;  later  on, 
too,  he  signalised  himself  by  his  devotion  in  the  defence  of 
Rendsburg.  Thence  he  returned  to  Kiel,  Helmuth  and 
Fritz  in  the  meanwhile  having  gone  back  to  school  at 
Copenhagen,  Besides  these  two,  there  were  now  four 
other  boys  and  two  girls  in  the  family,  ranging  from 
Wilhelm,  the  eldest,  a  cadet  in  the  Norwegian  military 
school  at  Christiania,  down  to  Victor,  the  baby,  born  in 

161 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

1812,  the  intermediate  places  being  filled  by  Adolf, 
Ludwig,  Magdelene  —  or  "  Helene  "  —  and  Augusta, 
later  the  step-mother  of  Helmuth's  English  wife,  Mary 
Burt. 

Throughout  the  momentous  period  of  18 13  and  18 14, 
—  the  War  of  Liberation  in  Germany,  and  the  downfall 
of  Napoleon,  —  the  sympathies  of  the  Moltkes  must 
have  been  almost  equally  divided  between  the  conquerors 
and  the  conquered;  for,  as  was  the  case  with  so  many 
families  at  that  time  in  northern  Europe,  they  were  far 
from  being  united  in  the  matter  of  politics.  Of  the 
Baron's  brothers  one,  as  has  been  seen,  had  lately  fallen 
on  the  French  side,  whilst  another,  Wilhelm,  was  fight- 
ing on  that  of  Prussia.  But  this  diversity  of  political 
employment  has  always  been  the  lot  of  their  kind  in 
Germany,  with  its  many  States,  large  and  small.  The 
Baron's  own  father,  for  instance,  had  begun  his  career 
as  a  page  at  the  court  of  Wiirtemberg,  which  he  left  as 
the  result  of  a  quarrel  with  his  superiors.  Thence  he 
betook  himself  to  Vienna,  w^here  he  entered  the  army  of 
the  Empress  Maria  Theresa  under  the  auspices  of  a 
relative,  the  Austrian  Field-Marshal  von  Moltke,  ris- 
ing with  rapidity  to  the  rank  of  captain  in  his  twenty- 
first  year.  Soon  after,  upon  succeeding  to  the  estate  of 
Samov  in  1751,  he  retired  from  the  Austrian  service 
and  returned  to  the  allegiance  of  his  birth  as  a  subject 
of  the  King  of  Prussia. 

But  even  the  universal  warfare  about  them  was  power- 
less to  make  much  difference  to  Helmuth  and  his  brother 
under  the  rule  of  Colonel  Glode  du  Plat  at  Copenhagen. 

162 


NORTH   OF   THE   ALPS 

News  then  travelled  slowly  and  under  difficulties;  the 
extent,  for  instance,  of  the  disaster  of  Trafalgar  was 
not  even  known  in  France  itself  until  after  Napoleon's 
abdication  in  1814.  And,  when  Waterloo  had  decided 
his  destiny  for  ever,  the  military  professors  all  over 
Europe  turned  their  attention,  with  the  redoubled  energy 
of  relief,  to  instilling  the  lessons  of  the  past  prodigious 
quarter-century  of  experience  into  the  minds  of  their  pu- 
pils. A  fury  of  scholastic  militarism  succeeded  to  the 
ruder  actualities  of  the  upheaval  of  1790-1815;  a  veri- 
table frenzy  of  theory  in  which  the  opposing  schools  of 
Jomini  and  Clausewitz  were  to  find  birth. 

For  Helmuth  von  Moltke  this  period  of  "  cram- 
ming" (during  a  part  of  which  he  did  duty  at 
Court  as  a  member  of  the  Corps  of  Pages)  resulted 
in  his  passing  at  the  head  of  the  list  of  candidates 
from  the  "  Akademie  "  into  the  army  in  1818.  Among 
his  weaker  subjects,  in  the  exammation,  was,  as  I  have 
heard,  that  of  drawing.  And  yet,  strange  to  say,  It  was 
to  his  skill  In  drawing  that  he  was  afterwards  most 
particularly  indebted  for  his  subsequent  chances  of  dis- 
tinction. It  was  said  that,  at  a  reception  at  the  German 
Court,  a  lady — a  relation,  I  think,  of  the  unfortunate 
Harry  Arnim  who  was  Prussian  Ambassador  In  Rome 
in  the  days  of  my  youth,  and  who  afterwards  ended  his 
career  abruptly  by  falling  out  with  Prince  Bismarck  — 
was  once  talking  to  Moltke,  when  they  were  joined  by 
the  old  Emperor  William.  Moltke  at  once  withdrew, 
and  the  Emperor  said,  "  I  will  tell  you  something  new 
about  Moltke.     Do  you  know  that  It  was  I  who  first 

163 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

'  discovered  '  him  ?  "  Thereupon  he  told  her  how,  many 
years  before,  some  drawings  of  fortifications  and  so  forth 
made  by  various  officers  had  come  under  his  own 
eyes,  when  Prince  of  Prussia;  he  had  been  aston- 
ished and  delighted  by  one  in  particular,  the  work  of  a 
certain  Moltke,  of  whom  no  one  seemed  to  know  any- 
thing. "  Pray  keep  an  eye  on  this  man,"  the  Prince 
had  said  to  those  about  him,  "  he  will  surely  make  himself 
heard  of  —  his  work  is  simply  magnificent!"  So  that 
it  really  was  due  to  the  Emperor  that  Moltke  had  there- 
after been  singled  out  for  special  employment  from  among 
his  comrades. 

Having  received  his  commission  as  second  lieutenant, 
Moltke  left  Copenhagen  to  join  his  battalion  of  the 
Oldenburg  infantry  regiment  at  Rendsburg,  the  scene  of 
his  father's  exploits  in  1813.  Here  he  remained  a  couple 
of  years,  being  transferred  to  the  "  Jager  "  or  "  light  " 
company  of  the  regiment  in  1820,  a  notable  distinction 
and  one  much  prized  by  the  regimental  juniors.  And 
then,  in  1821,  occurred  the  most  momentous  event,  per- 
haps, of  his  whole  career  —  a  period  of  short  leave  which 
he  spent  on  a  trip,  with  his  father,  to  Berlin. 

Here  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  set  eyes  upon  the 
Prussian  army  —  and  instantly  his  young  enthusiasm  was 
kindled  by  the  sight.  From  that  moment  he  could  know 
no  happiness  until  he  felt  himself  entitled  to  a  personal 
share  in  that  army's  traditions  as  the  wearer  of  a  Prussian 
uniform. 

After  considerable  heart-searching  he  confided  his  am- 
bition to  his  father,  who  offered  no  obstacle  to  the  pro- 

164 


NORTH   OF   THE    ALPS 

ject,  but  rather  sympathised  with  his  son's  eagerness 
for  a  wider  scope  for  his  abilities  than  that  afforded  by 
the  Danish  service.  Accordingly,  young  Moltke  applied 
to  the  Prussian  authorities  for  permission  to  offer  himself 
as  a  candidate  at  the  forthcoming  examinations  for  offi- 
cers in  Berlin,  and  was  accepted,  subject  to  his  being  able 
to  produce  a  certificate  of  good  conduct  from  his  former 
Danish  superiors.  This  he  did,  and  was  admitted  to  the 
examination,  which  he  passed  —  after  only  a  fortnight's 
preparation.  Having  satisfied  the  examiners,  —  among 
them  no  less  famous  a  person  than  the  great  Gneisenau, 
—  he  found  himself  promptly  appointed  to  the  Eighth 
infantry  regiment  stationed  at  Frankfort  on  the  Oder, 
as  the  junior  of  all  its  twenty-nine  subalterns  —  then  no 
very  promising  outlook  for  any  but  such  as  he !  His  time 
at  Frankfort  was  busily  employed  in  fitting  himself  for  ad- 
mission to  the  "  Kriegsschule,"  the  school  of  superior 
studies  for  officers  at  Berlin.  In  this  he  succeeded  and 
was  transferred  to  the  capital  in  1823.  And  now  began 
the  long  struggle  to  raise  himself  by  sheer  merit  above 
the  crowd  of  his  wealthier  but  less  ambitious  comrades. 
No  possible  economy  was  left  unpractised  by  him  to  this 
end,  no  chance  neglected.  What  tiny  sums  he  could  con- 
trive to  save  from  his  unavoidable  living  expenses  were 
invested  in  paying  for  tuition  in  foreign  languages  — 
English  and  Russian  —  in  both  of  which  he  made  himself 
an  expert.  But,  even  for  a  Moltke,  advancement  was 
slow  in  those  days;  and  eleven  years  were  to  pass  before 
he  obtained  the  rank  of  full  lieutenant  in  his  thirty-fourth 
year.    By  then,  however,  he  was  already  better  equipped 

165 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

for  generalship  than  many  men  of  twice  his  age.  Almost 
from  the  very  first  he  was  absolutely  dependent  upon  his 
own  brains  for  his  success  in  the  struggle  with  poverty. 
Thus  he  became  the  author  of  a  novel,  amongst  other 
productions,  written  during  a  period  of  profound  de- 
pression and  heart  trouble  that  threatened  either  to  bring 
him  to  the  grave  or,  at  least,  to  compel  the  abandonment 
of  his  beloved  profession;  indeed,  he  scarcely  expected 
to  be  able  to  continue  as  a  soldier  and  was  preparing  to 
make  a  living,  instead,  by  his  pen.  There  was  always  in 
Moltke  —  until  past  middle  life  when  all  doubtings  had 
left  him  —  an  extraordinary  readiness,  a  kind  of  fatal- 
istic eagerness,  almost,  to  meet  troubles  half  way  and  to 
anticipate  the  worst.  So  late  as  1848  (when  Prussia 
was  in  the  grasp  of  mob-law  to  such  an  extent  that  a 
parliamentary  resolution  was  passed  to  the  effect  that  all 
young  officers  not  in  sympathy  with  democratic  princi- 
ples should  be  ordered  to  make  it  a  point  of  honour  to 
resign  their  commissions)  Moltke  was  seriously  debating 
the  advisability  of  beginning  life  anew  together  with  his 
young  wife,  as  an  emigrant  to  Australia !  Among  other 
products  of  his  pen,  by  the  way,  during  those  early  days 
in  Berlin,  was  a  translation  of  Gibbon's  "  Decline  and 
Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire,"  begun  under  the  necessity 
of  finding  money  with  which  to  buy  a  second  charger, 
but  never  completed. 

His  relations  with  Prince  William  of  Prussia,  after- 
wards the  Emperor,  were  of  the  closest  kind,  from  the 
day  of  their  first  meeting  to  the  last  sad  one  when  Moltke 
stood  beside  the  death-bed  of  the  lovable   old  man   in 

166 


NORTH   OF   THE   ALPS 

1888.  The  Emperor  always  referred  everything  of  a 
military  nature  to  him  during  the  two  great  wars  of  1866 
and  1870.  "  I  can  do  nothing  without  his  sanction,"  he 
once  said  in  answer  to  a  request  for  additional  troops 
by  some  corps-commander  during  the  siege  of  Paris. 
"  He  will  take  even  my  bodyguard  from  me  for  his 
schemes  if  he  thinks  fit."  But  that  was  always  the  Em- 
peror's way;  he  made  a  point  of  doing  things  thoroughly, 
and  his  given  word  was  "  as  the  laws  of  the  Medes  and 
Persians."  An  amusing  instance  occurred  one  day  when 
his  favourite  adjutant,  the  late  Count  Seckendorff,  pre- 
sented to  him  an  officer  upon  the  latter's  promotion  to 
major.  "  Gratulire,  Herr  Major"  (my  congratula- 
tions to  you,  Major),  said  the  Emperor;  whereupon  the 
officer  glanced  at  him  an  instant  with  an  expression  of 
astonishment  and  delight,  bowed  and  withdrew,  all 
smiles.  Presently,  to  his  dismay,  Count  Seckendorff  dis- 
covered that  the  officer  in  question  was  one  of  two  brothers 
and  that  it  was  the  other  one,  the  elder,  who  had  just 
received  his  majority,  the  younger,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
being  only  a  captain.  On  explaining  his  mistake  to  the 
Emperor,  the  latter  replied,  "  Well,  there  's  nothing  to 
be  done.  '  Major,'  I  said,  —  and  Major  he  must  re- 
main." Upon  Seckendorff  coming  to  him,  however,  a 
few  days  later,  with  the  request  that  he  might  be  allowed 
to  present  the  real  Major,  the  Sovereign  shook  his  head. 
"  Nannu,  mein  Bester,"  he  answered,  laughingly,  "  zum 
zweiten  Mai  fall'  ich  nicht  darin!  "  (No,  no,  my  dear 
fellow,  you  don't  catch  me  making  the  same  mistake  a 
second  time!) 

167 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

And  it  really  took  some  persuasion  to  induce  him  to 
comply  with  the  request  and  to  consent  to  congratulate 
the  newly  promoted  officer! 

Both  Kaiser  Wilhelm  and  his  son,  Crown  Prince 
Frederick,  were  the  simplest  of  mortals  in  their  inter- 
course with  others.  There  was  a  delightful  story  in  re- 
gard to  this  which  my  brother-in-law  Oscar  von  Rabe  used 
to  tell.  As  he  was  equerry  to  the  Crown  Princess  at  the 
time,  he  must  bear  the  responsibility  for  its  authenticity. 
It  happened  that  the  Crown  Prince  had  taken  into  his 
service  a  new  man-servant,  and  that  the  overdone,  cere- 
monial obsequiousness  of  the  latter  began  to  jar  upon 
his  master.  Matters  came  to  such  a  point  of  discomfort, 
at  last,  that  the  servant  received  an  intimation  to  the 
effect  that  the  Crown  Prince  would  prefer  to  be  treated 
with  more  simplicity.  The  next  day,  when  the  Crown 
Prince  was  seated  writing  at  his  table,  he  suddenly  felt 
himself  tapped  on  the  shoulder  and  turned  quickly  — 
thinking  it  was  his  wife  —  to  behold  the  new  servant 
standing  there  with  a  smile  of  reassurance.  Before  the 
astounded  Heir  to  the  Throne  could  find  his  words, 
the  man  announced  with  a  jerk  of  his  thumb  behind 
him : 

"  Pappchen  "  (literally,  little  Papa),  "is  come  to  see 
you." 

''Pappchen!!!  BETRUNKEN? ! ! !  "  meaning  to 
say,  "Are  you  drunk?"  —  only  the  other  took  it, 
apparently,  to  have  reference  to  the  venerable  Emperor. 
Hence  the  delicious  answer,  as  he  scratched  his  head  in 
perplexity :  — 

i68 


NORTH    OF   THE    ALPS 

"Betrunken?  Na'  —  habe  nix  hemerktf"  ("Drunk? 
Well  —  no,  I  didn't  notice  anything!") 

But  speaking  of  the  Emperor  William's  rigid  fulfil- 
ment of  his  every  promise,  there  used,  long  ago,  to  be 
a  refreshing  —  if  uncharitable  —  joke  told  in  respect  to 
his  elder  brother,  King  Frederick  William  IV,  whose 
vacillation  in  things  political  was,  if  I  may  say  so, 
notorious. 

I  must  first  explain  that  in  former  days  in  Prussia 
there  existed  an  imaginary  character  —  a  kind  of  shad- 
owy "  Pasquino  "  known  as  Nanti  Strumpf,  into  whose 
mouth  public  opinion  was  wont  to  put — its  own 
conclusions. 

After  the  promise  of  a  Constitution  had  been  forced 
from  the  King,  a  comic  journal  published  a  supposedly 
overheard  colloquy  between  Nanti  Strumpf  and  a 
countryman  in  the  crowd  that  had  gathered  to  hear  the 
monarch  endorse  the  promise  with  an  oath,  of  which 
the  closing  words  were  these:  "  Und  dass  ich  mein  Wort 
erhalten  werde,  gelobig  ich  schwore."  (And  that  I  will 
keep  my  word  I  solemnly  swear.) 

"What  did  he  say?"  asks  the  peasant  of  his 
neighbour. 

"  Well,"  replies  Nanti  Strumpf,  "  it  sounded  to  me 
like  this:  '  Und  dass  ich  mein  Wort  erhalten  werde  glaub' 
i'  schwerli !  '  "  (And  that  I  shall  keep  my  word  I 
scarcely  believe.) 


169 


VIII 

SUNSHINE  AND    SHADOW   IN   THE  PENISOLA 

<•  Zoroaster"  at  Pompeii  —  My  Brother's  Wife  and  Her  Family  —  The 
Duke  of  Wellington's  Maxim  —  A  Young  Turk  —  Filangieri  the  Fire- 
eater —  King  Ferdinand's  Dismissal  of  the  Swiss  Guards  —  The  Sur- 
render of  Palermo  —  Garibaldi's  *•  Double  "  —  A  Veteran's  Experiences 
—  Roast  Goose  for  Four  —  A  Franciscan  in  England  —  The  Amiable 
Crispi  —  The  Disaster  of  Massouah  —  Tragedy  in  the  Flesh  —  Hill-road 
Pictures  —  A  Contrast  in  Funerals. 

ONE  book  was  completed  and  another  begun  in 
Marlon's  seabird  study  under  the  rocks  in  the  sum- 
mer of  1883.  The  first  was  "To  Leeward"  and  there 
is  so  much  of  Sorrento  in  it,  together  with  our  personal 
experiences  of  various  kinds,  that  I  must  not  enlarge 
too  much  on  these  subjects  —  they  have  been  touched 
by  that  master  hand.  Together  we  assisted  at  the  launch- 
ing of  the  battle-ship  at  Castellammare  which  he  there 
describes  —  together  we  had  smiled  at  the  soaring 
philosophisings  of  Daisy's  young  girl  friends,  summed  up 
by  Leonora's  amazing  aphorism  in  "  To  Leeward,"  — 
**  everything  is  nothing  and  Time  is  —  colour!"  The 
book  was  rather  adversely  criticised  when  it  came  out; 
Macmillan  had  refused  to  publish  it  because  the  story  of 
poor  Leonora's  mistakes  was  not  consonant  with  the  rather 
prudish  standards  of  the  firm  at  that  time,  and,  though 
the  public  read  it  avidly,  it  pretended  to  resent  Marion's 

170 


SUNSHINE    AND   SHADOW    IN    PENISOLA 

having  selected  a  subject  which  was  not  one  for  the 
young  person  —  the  "June  Filly"  as  he  himself  always 
called  her.  Unfortunately,  ever  since  the  world  was  made, 
certain  kinds  of  women  have  married  without  much 
reflection  and  have  allowed  themselves  to  fall  in  love 
with  the  wrong  men  afterwards.  The  only  wonder  is 
that  it  does  not  happen  more  frequently;  but  certainly  my 
brother's  story  gave  no  encouragement  to  such  frailty, 
and  he  was  consoled  for  the  reviewers'  growls  by  more 
than  one  private  letter  from  women  readers,  thanking 
him  for  the  warnings  conveyed,  which  had  caused  them 
to  draw  back  In  time  from  similar  perils.  He  was  very 
angry  with  Macmlllan's,  however,  for  refusing  the  book, 
and  when  the  next,  which  happened  to  be  "  Saraclnesca," 
was  completed,  he  sent  it  to  Blackwood,  and  I  remember 
the  tone  of  regret  with  which  Frederick  Macmlllan  spoke 
of  it  to  me  long  years  afterwards.  I  was  asking  him  why 
his  house  had  not  produced  that  book —  for  my  brother 
and  I  were  far  apart  when  It  came  out  and  he  had  not 
told  me  about  it.  "  We  never  even  saw  It!  He  sent  It 
straight  to  Blackwood  because  we  had  refused  '  To  Lee- 
ward,' and  though  we  have  tried  hard  to  buy  It  back, 
Blackwoods  will  not  give  it  up.  They  say  it  is  a  steady 
source  of  Income !  How  the  public  taste  has  changed  in 
ten  years !  Can  you  imagine  our  refusing  '  To  Leeward  ' 
now?  " 

But  "  Saraclnesca  "  was  not  the  book  which  Marlon 
thought  out  in  1883.  That  was  "  Zoroaster,"  which  ap- 
peared later,  and  which,  to  my  mind,  was  one  of  the  most 
finished  things  he  ever  wrote.     It  was  less  popular  with 

171 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

the  British  Public  than  some  of  his  others,  but  the  dear 
old  B.  P.  is  not  especially  appreciative  of  the  highly  artis- 
tic in  literature  or  anything  else.  "  Zoroaster  "  is  daz- 
zling in  colour  and  strength,  so  full  of  atmosphere  and 
so  accurate  in  historical  details  that  it  gives  a  picture 
of  the  time  which  can  never  be  forgotten  by  those  who 
have  read  it.  It  brought  Marlon  the  gold  medal  of  the 
French  Academy,  a  tribute  which  gave  him  the  purest 
pleasure  and  which  he  treasured  devoutly  all  his  life. 

One  of  my  happiest  days  with  Marlon  was  passed 
at  Pompeii,  when  he  was  very  full  of  "Zoroaster." 
Uncle  Sam  and  Daisy  made  up  the  party,  and  we  had  left 
Sant'  Agnello  early  enough  in  the  morning  to  find  Its 
freshness  all  along  our  road,  that  lovely  road  to  Cas- 
tellammare  over  which  I  have  driven  so  many  times  since, 
by  night  and  by  day,  in  storm  and  In  sunshine,  with  all 
my  best  beloveds  in  turn,  without  ever  finding  It  less  at- 
tractive. After  leaving  Castellammare  the  sun  had  pun- 
ished us  a  little  In  the  flat,  dusty  ways  to  Pompeii,  but 
the  day  was  still  young  when  we  came  to  a  halt  in  the 
amphitheatre  and  sat  down  to  rest  In  the  cool  blue 
shadows  cast  by  some  marble  columns  over  an  ancient 
seat. 

The  day  was  all  blue  and  white,  of  the  thousand 
clear  and  tender  shades  that  the  vertical  midday  sun  of 
the  south  draws  from  marble  and  sky  and  sea;  blue-white 
quivering  haze  overhead,  gold-white,  snow-white,  cold 
moon-white,  mist-grey-white  in  aisles  of  pillars  and  por- 
ticoes of  temples.  And  underfoot  was  the  wheat-coloured, 
fine  dust  that  sun  and  sea  winds  have  made  of  the  fine 

172 


From  aphotopraph  by  Messrs.  Thomson,  I... noon 

F.   MARION  CRAWFORD 


SUNSHINE    AND   SHADOW    IN    PENISOLA 

Roman  ladies  and  their  lords  and  cavaliers  and  their 
troops  of  clever  slaves;  of  the  dancers  and  singers;  of 
the  busy  shop-keepers  and  the  smart  garrison  and  the 
brown  fisherfolk  —  the  thousands  upon  whom  doom  fell 
in  Pompeii  nearly  two  thousand  years  ago.  All  is  recon- 
ciled and  peaceful  now,  and  as  we  were  looking  round  us, 
thinking  of  them  all,  Marion  began  to  read  to  us  the 
"  Chant  of  the  Priests  "  which  he  had  just  written  for 
the  opening  chapter  of  "  Zoroaster."  His  reading  was 
always  a  treat.  His  voice  was  so  full  and  pure,  his  bal- 
ancing of  phrase  so  sonorous  and  restrained;  but  that  day 
some  strong,  compelling  chord  had  been  touched  and 
after  the  first  few  words  we,  his  hearers,  were  in  Italy 
no  longer,  but  in  the  heart  of  the  older  world,  the  gor- 
geous, gold-clothed,  sun-worshipping,  Near-East. 

As  I  have  related  in  a  former  volume,  Marion  had 
passed  two  years  in  India  —  where,  but  for  a  whim  of 
chance,^  he  might  have  remained  for  many  years  more  — 
but  the  Near-East  he  knew  in  spirit  only  in  that  summer 
of  1883  when  he  began  to  write  "Zoroaster."  It  was 
a  little  later  that  he  made  his  first  visit  to  Constantino- 
ple, drawn  thither  by  a  magnet  which  later  became  the 
centre  of  his  life,  the  beautiful  face  and  irresistible  per- 
sonality of  Elizabeth  Christophers  Berdan,  whom  he  had 
known  a  couple  of  years  earlier  in  Boston.  Her  father. 
General  Berdan,  a  brilliantly  talented  officer  of  the  Civil 
War,  was  just  then  fitting  out  the  Sultan's  troops  with  the 

^  My  brother,  in  a  fit  of  desperation  at  his  reverses  of  fortune,  had  ac- 
tually written  to  ask  if  he  might  enlist  in  the — th  Dragoon  Guards.  He  kept 
back  the  letter  for  one  night  and  the  next  morning  received  one  offering 
him  the  editorship  of  the  Allahabad  Pioneer,  which  he  thankfully  accepted. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

"  Berdan  rifle,"  and,  Incidentally,  adding  very  much  to 
the  charm  of  society  In  Constantinople  by  his  own 
presence  and  that  of  his  wife  and  daughter. 

Mrs.  Berdan  was  a  complete  cosmopolitan,  so  fresh  and 
young  and  pretty  that  when  I  met  her  several  years  later,  I 
could  not  make  out  which  was  fibbing,  she,  or  the  evidence 
of  my  own  senses,  when  she  told  me  that  as  a  young 
girl,  living  In  London  with  her  uncle,  who  was  there  as  the 
American  Minister,  she  had  met  the  Duke  of  Welling- 
ton at  a  Court  Ball !  The  great  man  had  taken  particular 
notice  of  the  pretty  debutante  In  her  white  tulle  dress 
and  wreath  of  forget-me-nots.  He  had  picked  out  a 
little  gift  for  her,  a  "  bonbonnlere,"  with  many  decora- 
tions, and,  on  presenting  It  to  her,  said  confidentially,  "  My 
dear  young  lady,  they  say,  '  Be  good  and  you  will  be 
happy!  '  I  say  to  you,  be  happy  and  you  will  be  good!  " 
Wise,  wise  old  Duke ! 

After  her  marriage  Mrs.  Berdan  had  spent  some  years 
in  Berlin,  where  her  high  spirits  and  unfailing  charm 
caused  her  to  be  called  "  L'Etoile  du  Nord."  There  her 
eldest  daughter  was  married  to  a  French  diplomatist, 
Count  d'Aunay,  while  my  future  sister-in-law  was  still 
a  little  girl  in  the  schoolroom,  much  In  request  at  the 
Palace  as  a  playmate  for  the  young  Princesses.  I  re- 
member she  showed  me  a  little  ring  that  one  of  them  had 
given  her,  saying  apologetically,  "  I  would  like  to  give 
you  something  finer,  Bessie  —  but — Granny  Vic  is  so 
stingy!  "  A  great  grief  fell  on  the  family  in  the  death 
of  the  only  boy,  of  typhoid  fever,  in  all  the  promise  of 
his  early  youth.     His  mother  told  me  that  he  was  quite 

174 


SUNSHINE    AND   SHADOW    IN    PENISOLA 

conscious  of  his  approaching  end  and  seemed  to  fear  it 
not  at  all,  but  that  he  felt  bitterly  the  having  to  go  before 
he  had  tasted  life.  "  Je  meurs  —  et  je  n'ai  pas  aime !  " 
were  almost  the  last  words  that  fell  from  his  lips. 

My  brother,  though  most  cordially  received  by  the 
family  on  his  first  visit  to  Constantinople,  was  too  diffident 
of  his  own  merits  to  put  his  fate  to  the  touch  that  time, 
and  made  another  journey  for  the  purpose  in  the  late 
summer  of  1884,  when  his  suit  prospered  and  was  fol- 
lowed by  his  marriage  to  Miss  Berdan  on  the  15th  of 
October  of  that  year.  Constantinople  supplied  him  with 
a  new  theatre  for  romance,  and  "  Paul  Patoff  "  was  the 
literary  outcome  of  those  visits  —  a  book  which  a  Turk- 
ish friend  of  ours,  Reshid  Bey,  abused  to  me  with  out- 
bursts of  wrath.  Never,  to  the  great  never,  he  declared, 
could  such  an  outrage  occur  as  the  kidnapping  of  a  for- 
eigner in  Constantinople!  The  city  was  as  civilised,  as 
well  policed,  as  London  or  Berlin,  and  the  whole  thing  was 
a  cruel  calumny!  His  patriotism  was  edifying,  for  his 
family  had  suffered  heavily  in  pocket  through  the  rapa- 
cious avarice  of  the  Government  that  he  represented  — 
and  so  hotly  defended;  but  many  a  strange  disappearance 
and  desperate  adventure  of  the  too  rash  foreigner 
in  Constantinople  has  come  to  one's  knowledge  —  too 
clearly  proved  to  admit  of  refutation.  Reshid  Bey  had 
been  educated  in  England  himself  and  had,  among  other 
British  acquirements,  taken  on  the  one  of  feeling  bound 
to  believe  that  a  man's  own  country,  "  in  spite  of  all 
temptations  "  of  facts  to  the  contrary,  must  be  upheld 
as  the  most  perfect  in  the  world. 

175 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATISTS  WIFE 

As  a  boy  he  had  encountered  one  insuperable  difficulty 
in  his  scholastic  career  in  England.  Having  been  sent 
to  Eton,  he  very  soon  fell  under  the  displeasure  of  his 
instructors  and  was  sent  up  to  the  Head  Master  to  be 
birched.  When  he  stood  before  that  all-powerful  per- 
sonage and  realised  what  was  in  store  for  him,  his  fury 
was  so  uncontrollable  that  even  Authority  hesitated  a 
moment  before  inflicting  the  punishment.  Young  Reshid 
was  told  to  kneel  upon  the  time-honoured  block  —  and  he 
swore  by  all  his  gods  that  he  would  kill  with  his  hands 
the  man  who  should  dare  to  strike  him  —  a  Turkish 
gentleman !  Authority  wisely  decided  that  this  young 
autocrat  could  not  safely  be  coerced  and  would  never 
make  a  typical  English  schoolboy,  so  Master  Reshid  and 
his  possessions  were  handed  over  to  a  private  tutor  — 
who  must  have  been  a  very  good  fellow  and  also  a  good 
teacher,  for  nothing  seemed  wanting  in  the  English  edu- 
cation of  the  young  diplomatist  when  we  knew  him,  and 
he  always  spoke  with  affectionate  warmth  of  the  happy 
years  he  had  spent  in  England.  He  is  connected  with 
Sorrento  a  good  deal  in  my  mind  because  I  first  met  him 
at  Villa  Crawford,  but  it  was  more  than  ten  years  after 
my  summer  there  with  Uncle  Sam,  the  second  only  that 
I  had  then  passed  in  the  place  which,  as  time  went  on, 
became  as  much  a  home  as  Rome,  my  birthplace. 

My  first  visit  to  the  Penisola  happened  in  1865,  when 
I  was  only  fourteen,  fresh  from  the  Isle  of  Wight  where 
I  had  been  at  school  for  three  years,  and  the  "  Regno  " 
was  still  unsettled  and  not  altogether  safe.  But  a  short 
time  had  elapsed  since  Garibaldi  and  his  followers  had 

176 


SUNSHINE    AND    SHADOW    IN    PENISOLA 

evicted  the  Bourbons  from  their  throne  and  the  country 
was  yet  full  of  the  bitterness  aroused  by  the  repressive 
measures  of  the  Piedmontese  Government  after  that 
event.  The  few  Neapolitans  with  whom  we  came  in 
social  contact  were  still  divided  in  opinion  as  to  the  merits 
of  the  old  and  new  regimes,  but  for  the  most  part  they 
held  in  their  hearts  to  the  rule  of  King  Ferdinand  rather 
than  to  that  of  Victor  Emmanuel.  Among  them  perhaps 
the  strongest  personality  was  that  of  the  ex-governor  of 
Sicily,  Prince  Filangieri,  who  had  been  made  Duke  of 
Taormina  for  his  suppression  of  the  revolt  in  that  city 
in  1849.  He  was  in  his  eighty-third  year  when  I  first 
went  to  Sorrento  in  1865.  To  few  men  has  it  been  given 
to  take  part  in  so  many  changes  in  history  as  to  Carlo 
Filangieri ;  his  adventures  rivalled  —  and  far  surpassed 
—  those  of  Lever's  heroes,  Tom  Burke  and  his 
kind.  The  proverb  runs,  "  Like  father,  like  son,"  but 
it  was  not  so  in  his  case.  The  strongest  contrast  was 
struck  there,  for  the  older  Filangieri  called  himself  a 
social  reformer,  and  his  mind  had  been  completely  taken 
possession  of  by  the  sentimental  Liberalism  so  rampant  in 
western  Europe  towards  the  close  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury. He  was  a  dreamer,  whose  rather  mawkish  tendencies 
found  no  place  in  the  aggressively  active  character  of 
his  son. 

The  latter  was  born  at  Cava  Delle  Sirene  In  1783,  and 
In  his  early  youth  his  Imagination  was  fired  by  the  ex- 
ploits of  the  great  General  Bonaparte  In  his  victories 
over  the  Austrians  in  the  north  of  Italy.  Nothing  less 
than  service  under   him  could  satisfy  the   ambition   of 

177 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

young  Filangleri,  and  when,  in  1799,  the  French,  under 
Championnet,  took  possession  of  Naples,  he  seized  the 
opportunity  of  making  Championnet's  acquaintance  and 
of  obtaining  his  assistance  in  the  realisation  of  these 
desires. 

Championnet  was  much  impressed  by  the  ardour  of 
the  boy,  and  willingly  sent  him  to  Paris  with  a  letter  of 
introduction  to  the  First  Consul,  who  also  received  him 
favourably.  Thanks  to  this  powerful  patron,  Filangieri 
obtained  entrance  to  the  French  Training  School  for  young 
officers  and  continued  his  studies  there  until  he  received 
his  commission,  in  1801. 

Four  years  later  the  young  man's  first  chance  of  show- 
ing what  stuff  he  was  made  of  presented  itself  during 
the  campaign  of  1805,  and  he  was  made  a  captain  on  the 
field  of  Austerlitz  in  reward  for  gallantry.  Soon  after- 
wards, however,  he  returned  to  his  own  country  and 
took  service  under  Joseph  Bonaparte  whom,  in  1808,  he 
accompanied  into  Spain.  In  the  long  war  that  followed, 
Carlo  Filangieri  distinguished  himself  rather  by  his 
courage  than  by  military  ability,  and  since  his  various 
chiefs,  Murat,  Massena,  Marmont,  and  the  rest  of  the 
French  commanders  in  the  Peninsula  were  only  too  prone 
to  condone  such  a  fault,  all  that  was  best  in  Filangieri, 
as  a  soldier,  was  subordinated  to  the  one  fixed  idea  of 
maintaining  his  reputation  for  personal  fearlessness. 
The  result  was  disastrous  to  his  natural  abilities.  In- 
stead of  applying  himself  to  learning  his  business  as  a 
soldier,  Filangieri  became  involved  in  a  series  of  duels, 
in  one  of  which  he  killed  General  Franceschi  —  a  breach 

178 


SUNSHINE    AND    SHADOW    IN    PENISOLA 

of  discipline  for  which  he  escaped  very  lightly,  all  things 
considered. 

The  story  of  Murat's  eviction  from  the  throne  of 
Naples  —  the  flight,  the  return,  the  desperate  night  of 
rowing  down  the  coast,  the  fall  of  doom  in  his  capture 
at  Pizzo  in  Calabria,  the  gallant  dandy's  manner  of 
meeting  his  end  —  it  all  makes  a  story  which  may  be  a 
little  theatrical  but  which  touches  some  strong  chord  of 
sympathy  in  one's  heart.  But  the  tragic  fate  of  his  hero 
seems  to  have  aroused  but  little  indignation  in  Filangieri. 
He  very  soon  decided  to  return  to  his  natural  allegiance, 
and  entered  the  service  of  King  Ferdinand,  whom  he 
supported  faithfully  for  a  time.  Then  something  hap- 
pened to  estrange  him  from  his  Sovereign,  Perhaps 
Filangieri  caught  a  glimpse  of  King  Ferdinand's  favour- 
ite curio,  the  head  of  Joachim  Murat,  kept  in  a  glass  box 
in  the  royal  bedroom,  and  was  betrayed  into  some  excla- 
mation of  protest;  at  any  rate  he  was  out  of  employment 
until  the  accession  of  Ferdinand  II  in  1825. 

By  the  new  King  he  was  promoted  to  be  Inspector- 
general  of  the  Artillery  and  Engineers,  and  this  post  he 
retained  for  many  years.  In  1848  he  was  sent  to  quell 
the  insurrection  in  Sicily,  a  task  which  he  carried  out  — 
if  not  wisely,  only  too  well.  His  zeal  resulted  in  his 
being  created  Duke  of  Taormina,  and  in  King  Ferdi- 
nand the  Second's  obtaining  the  memorable  nickname  of 
"  Bomba  "  in  perpetuation  of  the  memory  of  Filangieri's 
ferocious  bombardment  of  Messina.  The  victorious 
general  was  also  made  Governor-General  of  Sicily  in 
reward  for  his  service  —  a  distinction  which  has  a  tang 

179 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

of  Ferdinand's  sardonic  humour  in  it.  Sicily  was  not 
likely  to  prove  a  bed  of  roses  to  any  one  at  that  time, 
least  of  all  to  the  fiery  zealot  who  had  subdued  it. 

The  strangest  part  of  Filangieri's  career  seems  to  centre 
round  his  action  in  persuading  his  Sovereign,  in  1859,  to 
disband  the  Swiss  Guards,  who  were  so  famous  for  their 
loyalty  and  devotion  to  the  Throne.  In  this  he  was  bit- 
terly opposed  by  the  rest  of  the  Neapolitan  generals,  with 
one  exception,  that  of  Lanza,  whose  subsequent  exploits 
throw  the  gravest  doubts  on  his  motives.  The  Swiss 
had  mutinied,  it  is  true,  but  not  in  any  disloyal  spirit. 
Certainly  Filangieri's  action  in  the  matter  appears  to  have 
been  prompted  more  by  national  jealousy  than  by  any 
other  motives.  The  Swiss  were  the  —  deservedly  — 
favourite  troops  of  the  young  queen  (a  Bavarian  Princess 
and  the  sister  of  the  Empress  of  Austria)  and  it  seems 
likely  that  both  Filangieri  and  Lanza  resented  the  fact. 
At  all  events,  the  loss  of  the  Swiss  was  to  a  great  extent 
the  cause  of  the  loss  of  his  throne  to  Francis  II.  Those 
four  regiments  of  well  trained,  well  officered  Swiss 
Guards  would  have  been  more  than  a  match  for  Gari- 
baldi and  his  brigands,  a  year  later. 

As  to  Lanza,  who  in  i860  was  in  command  of  Palermo, 
it  is  generally  believed  that  he  sold  the  place  to  Garibaldi 
for  one  million  francs.  It  was  well-provisioned,  full  of 
ammunition,  and  more  than  fully  garrisoned  when  Lanza 
announced  his  intention  of  surrendering  it.  The  troops 
protested,  but  the  fate  of  two  loyal  officers,  who  attempted 
to  interfere  with  the  Commander's  project  and  whom  he 
condemned  to  be  put  to  death  at  once  with  every  circum- 

180 


SUNSHINE    AND    SHADOW    IN    PENISOLA 

stance  of  obloquy,  intimidated  the  rest,  and  Garibaldi  took 
possession  without,  if  I  remember  rightly,  firing  a  shot. 
Lanza's  soldiers  openly  lamented  the  absence  of  the 
trusty  Swiss  comrades  who  would  have  enabled  them  to 
deal  promptly  with  the  Redshirt  rabble  and  the  revolu- 
tionaries of  Palermo. 

There  are  many  people  who  still  believe,  with  some 
assumption  of  reason,  that  there  were  two  Garibaldis  — 
the  real  one,  and  a  double  who,  for  convenience  sake, 
often  impersonated  his  patron  during  the  latter's  life- 
time and  was  deftly  substituted  for  him  at  his  death. 
After  the  skirmish  at  Aspromonte,  rumours,  whispered 
but  persistent,  circulated  in  Italy  to  the  effect  that  Gari- 
baldi had  been  killed  in  the  affair  by  Pallavicini's  troops, 
and  that  one  Sganarelli  (shades  of  Moliere!)  had  im- 
mediately been  made  to  take  his  place.  This  man, 
Sganarelli,  was  a  stevedore  of  Genoa  and  had  often  posed 
for  photographs  of  Garibaldi  on  account  of  his  surprising 
likeness  to  him.  The  story  of  the  substitution  of  Sganar- 
elli for  the  dead  man  has  lately  been  renewed  and,  one 
must  admit,  supported  by  the  testimony  of  a  well-known 
Frenchman,  Count  le  Gonidec  de  Traissan,  recently  de- 
ceased. As  far  as  political  possibilities  go.  It  is  quite 
conceivable  that  the  Pledmontese  Government  should 
have  done  all  in  Its  power  to  hush  up  the  fact  —  if  such 
it  were  —  that  Garibaldi  had  been  killed  by  Pledmontese 
soldiers,  for  fear  of  Incurring  the  hatred  of  the  many 
misguided  men,  his  admirers. 

According  to  Count  Gonidec  the  Garibaldlan  leaders 
themselves  consented  to  the  Sganarelli  fraud  In  order  to 

i8i 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

maintain  the  prestige  of  their  gang  towards  the  world  at 
large,  which,  however,  watched  with  surprise  the  extra- 
ordinary and  (except  on  these  grounds)  inexplicable 
decadence  of  Garibaldi's  military  capacity  after  1862. 
It  was  complete  incapacity  that  was  shown,  both  at 
Mentana  and,  in  1866,  in  Tyrol,  as  well  as  in  the  attempt 
of  the  Garibaldians  to  oppose  the  Prussian  professional 
soldiers,  Kettler  and  Werder,  in  1871. 

How  the  French  regarded  their  embarrassing  ally  in 
1 87 1  is  matter  of  history.  Only  the  other  day  an  old 
Prussian  soldier  who  was  under  Werder  during  the  pur- 
suit of  Bourbaki's  corps,  from  the  Lisaine  before  Belfort 
down  to  the  Swiss  frontier,  told  me  of  his  and  all  his 
comrades'  pleased  surprise  at  being  greeted,  in  every  town 
and  village,  as  welcome  deliverers.  For  days,  while 
Bourbaki's  disorganised  hordes  and  Garibaldi's  followers 
had  been  passing  that  way,  the  inhabitants  had  been 
forced  to  hide  their  women  and  their  possessions  from 
those  marauding  refugees,  and  had  for  the  most  part 
themselves  lain  concealed  behind  the  barricaded  doors 
of  their  houses.  But  no  sooner  were  the  Prussian  pur- 
suers in  sight  than  everything  changed  in  the  twinkling 
of  an  eye.  Every  one  came  out  of  hiding  and  breathed 
freely  once  more;  a  brisk  cash  trade  was  done  in  wine 
and  provisions ;  on  every  hand  "  Thank  Heaven  you  have 
come  at  last!  "  was  the  fervent  ejaculation  of  the  elders. 
"  We  have  been  going  in  fear  of  our  lives  for  days  past, 
from  those  Garibaldian  brigands!  " 

Very  severe  was  the  Prussian  discipline  as  to  looting, 
in  that  command  at  any  rate.     "  When  we  were  before 

182 


SUNSHINE    AND    SHADOW    IN    PENISOLA 

Metz,"  my  veteran  went  on  to  relate,  "  I  and  three  of 
my  friends  came  very  near  being  shot  —  for  the  sake  of 
roast  goose!  We  were  young,  we  had  dreamed  of 
Gansebraten  for  weeks !  A  certain  Pastor,  close  by  in  the 
country,  had  some  beautiful  fat  geese  whose  cackling  made 
much  music  in  our  ears  and  craving  in  our  stomachs. 
Orders  were  precise  that  everything  must  be  paid  for. 
We  had  no  money,  and  besides  the  Frau  Pastorin  loved 
those  geese  like  children  and  would  not  have  them  sold. 
We  four,  we  looked  at  one  another  —  we  understood. 
At  dead  of  night  we  stole  one  goose.  We  took  it  far 
away  and  plucked  it,  counting  the  feathers,  oh  so  care- 
fully, and  in  a  deep  hole  we  buried  every  one,  every 
smallest  one!  We  roasted  our  goose  —  we  ate  —  ah, 
what  happiness  —  it  was  like  home  —  till  we  could  eat 
no  more,  and  then  we  buried  the  bones  also,  deep  and 
carefully.  We  looked  at  our  clothes  all  over  many  times 
—  there  were  no  feathers  anywhere  at  all.  Then  we 
returned  to  camp  and  slept  —  with  some  fright,  all  the 
same.  The  next  morning,  up  comes  the  Herr  Pastor  to 
report  his  goose  stolen  in  the  night  by  some  of  our  com- 
pany. We  are  ordered  up  to  stand  in  hollow  square, 
every  man  with  his  knapsack  open  at  his  feet.  The  offi- 
cers and  the  Herr  Pastor  go  round  and  look  for  goose- 
feathers.  They  pull  out  everything  from  the  knapsacks, 
they  turn  out  our  pockets,  they  look  in  our  hair,  in 
the  seams  of  our  clothes  —  through  those  many  sol- 
diers! If  one  little  small,  tiny  bit  of  feather  had  been 
found,  that  man  would  have  been  shot  just  then,  all  in 
a  minute,  —  so !     We  felt  pretty  bad,  we  four,  but  we 

183 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

had  been  so  careful  that  not  one  little  speck  of  feather 
was  upon  us,  and  so  we  got  off !  But  we  waited  for 
our  next  Gansebraten  till  we  got  safe  back  to  the 
Fatherland!  " 

I  believe  I  was  saying  that  if  Count  Gonidec's  state- 
ments are  to  be  relied  on  —  and  he  made  them  most 
categorically — it  was  not  Garibaldi  but  the  versatile 
Sganarelli  who  was  responsible  for  the  various  military 
mistakes  which  it  has  so  puzzled  Garibaldi's  biographers 
to  account  for  when  dealing  with  the  later  part  of  his  life. 
Gonidec  says  that  "  Garibaldi's  sons  knew  of  this  (the 
substitution)  and  that  was  why  they  were  sometimes  so 
indifferent  to  their  putative  father." 

There  may  be  nothing  in  Gonidec's  theory,  but  at  the 
same  time  it  suggests  a  smile  at  the  expense  of  so  many 
enthusiastic  admirers  of  Garibaldi,  including  those  in 
London.  "A  propos  "  of  his  —  or  his  double's  —  visit 
there,  it  is  at  least  refreshing  to  remember  one  illustrious 
exception  to  the  general  folly  and  vulgarity  of  the  accla- 
mation accorded  to  the  man  —  the  exception  being  that 
of  Queen  Victoria  herself,  to  whom  the  very  mention  of 
his  name  was  detestable.  I  have  been  roundly  abused 
for  my  opinions  of  Garibaldi  freely  expressed  in  the  for- 
mer volumes  of  this  work;  it  was  a  consolation  to  me  to 
know  that  where  I  differed  from  the  general  public  it  was 
in  the  best  of  good  company.  The  son  of  Ricciotto  Gari- 
baldi has  done  much  to  atone  for  his  grandsire's  sins  by 
entering  the  Priesthood  (even  as  the  daughter  of  M. 
Jaures  has  become  a  Carmelite  nun!),  and  for  that  good 
young  man's  sake  I  would  be  glad  to  believe  that  the  score 

184 


SUNSHINE    AND    SHADOW    IN    PENISOLA 

was  closed  twenty  years  earlier  than  the  published  date  of 
1882. 

Garibaldi's  memory  is  not  in  benediction  In  the  beloved 
*'  Penlsola  "  whence,  as  my  good  Doctor  Miihlfeld 
triumphantly  chronicles,  "  he  chased  all  the  priests  and 
Religious  Orders."  Most  of  the  latter  are  flourishing 
there  now  as  if  they  had  never  been  disturbed,  only  the 
Jesuits,  as  far  as  I  know,  not  having  returned  to  claim 
their  possessions,  which  are  held,  as  in  trust,  by  God- 
fearing families  ready  to  relinquish  them  should  the 
Society  demand  it  —  which,  it  is  safe  to  say,  it  never 
will. 

Many  of  the  banished  clerics  and  monks  took  refuge 
in  England,  the  great  casual  ward  for  the  distressed,  and 
two  particular  friends  of  ours  among  them,  Monsignor 
Maresca  and  the  Superior  of  the  Franciscans,  said  that 
they  could  never  forget  the  kindness  with  which  they  were 
received.  The  Capuchin  Padre  told  me,  with  chuckles 
of  laughter,  of  his  attempt  to  address  a  congregation  in 
English  before  taking  leave  of  his  hosts  to  return  to 
Italy.  "  They  had  been  so  good  to  me,"  he  said,  "  all 
those  kind  people,  that  I  felt  the  least  I  could  do  was  to 
thank  them  myself.  I  had  not  learnt  much  of  their 
terribly  difficult  language,  but  I  thought  I  knew  enough 
for  that.  For  a  few  minutes  all  went  well,  and  then  I 
was  much  shocked  to  see  that  they  were  all  having  trouble 
not  to  laugh.  Figlia  mia,  I  had  been  trying  to  repeat 
those  words  of  the  Lord  —  'I  was  hungry  and  thirsty 
and  you  ministered  to  me  '  —  and  what  do  you  think  I 
had  said?  —  my  friend  the  Parish  Priest  told  me  after- 

185 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

wards  —  'I  was  ugly  and  dirty!'  And  the  worst  of 
it  was  that  it  was  quite  true !  "  Franciscan  humility  and 
the  sense  of  humour  exemplified! 

The  good  Superior  was,  during  one  of  my  last  visits 
to  Sorrento  (in  1896),  made  the  Bishop  of  Basilicata; 
great  was  the  rejoicing  in  Sant'  Agnello  at  the  merited 
distinction  bestowed  upon  him,  equally  clamorous  the 
mourning  for  the  loss  of  his  presence  among  us;  but 
the  latter  blessing  was  prolonged  for  two  whole  years, 
during  which  the  diocese  was  bishopless  —  because  the 
amiable  Prime  Minister,  Crispi,  refused  to  grant  him. 
his  "  Exequatur,"  without  which  no  Bishop  could  take 
possession  of  his  charge.  The  Government  had  reserved 
that  power  to  itself,  and  it  was  joyfully  exploited  to  annoy 
and  embarrass  the  Church.  In  this  case  all  the  protests 
and  appeals  of  the  prelate  himself  and  of  the  clergy  and 
people  of  Basilicata  received  the  same  reply  during  two 
long  years  —  Crispi  "had  mislaid  the  paper  among 
others  on  his  writing-table  and  would  send  it  along  when 
he  found  it!  " 

That  Crispi  escaped  assassination  in  the  end  shows  the 
marvellous  toleration  of  the  Italian  people,  I  think. 
In  the  spring  of  1895,  the  Italians,  at  some  considerable 
trouble  to  themselves,  contrived  to  stir  up  a  quarrel  with 
Menelik  of  Abyssinia.  Menelik  was  averse  to  a  war, 
himself,  but  he  found  it  impossible,  after  awhile,  to  resist 
their  importunity.  Signor  Crispi,  one  cannot  help  think- 
ing, had  reasons  of  his  own  for  turning  the  eyes  of  his 
countrymen  away  from  himself  and  his  Government 
just  then;   but  that  was  as  far  as  his  wits  took  him.    All 

186 


SUNSHINE    AND   SHADOW    IN    PENISOLA 

through  1895,  hostilities  went  on  intermittently  until  in 
the  spring  of  1896  Menelik  lost  his  temper  and  ad- 
ministered  a  thrashing  to  his  unfortunate  assailants  that 
finished  the  campaign  with  one  shock.  The  feeling 
towards  the  Government  which  pervaded  the  whole  of 
Italy  south  of  Rome  needs  no  description  here.  Despite 
all  the  efforts  of  the  "  Liberators,"  the  country  generally 
has  remained  Christian  and  has  retained  some  of  its 
national  characteristics;  so  it  can  be  understood  that, 
what  with  the  swarms  of  petty  officials,  the  continuous 
interference  of  the  State  with  religion,  the  salt  tax,  the 
land  taxes  —  and  the  whole  resultant  discontent,  misery, 
and  poverty,  the  ghastly  massacre  of  Barattieri's  force 
was  hardly  needed  to  produce  open  rebellion. 

"  If  we  must  have  tyrants,"  said  one,  "  we  much  prefer 
the  Bourbons.  They  were  tyrants,  but  they  were  not 
fools!" 

I  well  remember  seeing  the  return  of  some  of  the  troop- 
ships. The  men  seemed  to  be  dazed.  Their  eyes 
were  dull  and  their  speech  was  almost  plaintive.  They 
had  no  idea  of  what  it  had  all  been  about,  and  the  noise 
was  still  in  their  ears.  Judgment  had  descended  upon 
their  host  like  a  stroke  of  lightning.  Ill-armed,  ill-fed, 
ill-disciplined,  they  had  been  pushed  into  the  fight,  for 
no  other  reason  than  to  save  the  Government's  reputa- 
tion, and  loud  and  deep  were  the  curses  of  those  who 
saw  them  struggle  towards  the  hospital. 

It  happened  that  I  had  my  first  sight  of  them  on 
one  of  those  Mediterranean  evenings  that  seem  to  have 
come  straight  from  the  gates  of  Heaven  without  pausing 

187 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

long  enough  on  the  way  to  be  spoiled  by  the  contact  with 
anything  imperfect.  Two  or  three  ships  were  in  the  har- 
bour, and  boatloads  of  soldiers  —  the  hopelessly  crippled, 
—  were  being  brought  ashore.  The  populace  had  read 
the  accounts  in  the  papers,  and  had  been  proportionately 
horrified,  but  its  intense  anger  with  the  authorities  had 
almost  clouded  its  compassion  for  the  sufferers.  It  was 
not  unnatural,  for  no  one  can  feel  real  sympathy  unless 
he  has  real  understanding — and  that  comes  only  from 
sight.  It  was  the  same,  during  the  Boer  War,  with  the 
public  at  home.  The  world  wondered  at  the  matter-of- 
fact  way  in  which  the  British  took  their  trials  —  and  the 
world  did  well;  but  (and  of  this  I  am  quite  sure)  some 
measure  of  that  apparent  strength  of  mind  was  due  to 
unfamiliarity  with  the  nature  of  war,  and  to  the  distance 
which  separated  England  from  the  theatre  of  operations. 
There  was  the  sense,  always,  of  watching  a  play  from  the 
wings.  It  could  not  become  absolutely  real,  even  to  the 
men  who  were  leaving  to  serve  in  it,  until  they  were 
actually  in  it  —  for  that,  I  have  first-hand  evidence,  if 
it  were  needed.  No  man,  however  brave,  however 
keen  for  advancement,  would,  having  seen  War,  ever 
rejoice  for  personal  reasons  at  the  prospect  of  seeing  it 
again. 

It  was  the  sight  of  two  dust-coloured  figures  limping 
up  the  street,  their  arms  around  each  other,  that  gave  me 
my  first  sensation  of  the  actuality  of  the  horrors  we  had 
been  reading  about. 

One  was  on  crutches,  his  left  leg  cut  off  at  the  knee, 
his  face  settled  into  lines  of  pain  and  weariness;    the 

i88 


SUNSHINE    AND    SHADOW    IN    PENISOLA 

other,  with  grimy  bandages  on  his  head,  an  empty  sleeve, 
and  that  same  look  of  unseeing  melancholy  on  his  face. 
It  was  Tragedy  passing  by  in  the  flesh.  Then  I  began  to 
understand,  and  my  imagination  woke  up.  I  forgot  all 
other  aspects  of  the  case,  for  a  while,  as  the  instant 
mental  pictures  of  what  had  happened  to  those  two  men, 
back  there  in  East  Africa,  passed  before  me.  Visions  of 
stabbing,  slashing,  shooting  savages,  of  death  and  mutila- 
tion everywhere;  of  the  puzzled,  frightened,  unprepared 
men,  the  slow  crumpling-up  of  the  defence,  and  the  last 
hideous  moment  when  the  lath  and  plaster  edifice  of  a 
mutual  confidence  and  a  mutual  discipline  gave  way  and 
each  knew  that  he  was  abandoned  to  his  own  resources, 
with  no  possible  hope  of  help  from  officer  or  comrade. 

It  was  a  week  later  that  a  little  crowd  of  people 
gathered  to  chat  in  the  middle  of  Naples  in  the  cool  of 
the  evening.  The  police  paid  them  no  attention;  every 
one  gathered  thus  at  the  same  hour,  and  if  there  were  a 
few  more  now,  it  was  natural  enough.  Almost  imper- 
ceptibly, the  evening  began  to  merge  Into  the  twilight, 
and  the  blue  bay  became  a  great  darkness  wherein  the 
riding  lights  of  the  ships  twinkled  and  gleamed.  Silence 
came  down  over  the  waters,  and  invaded  even  the  nar- 
row, dirty  streets  along  the  shore.  The  night  sounds  of 
the  city  presently  seemed  to  be  concentrating  themselves 
in  groups,  and,  before  any  one  was  well  aware  of  it,  the 
little  crowd  aforementioned  had  taken  on  the  dimen- 
sions of  a  good-sized  mob.  Voices  began  to  repeat  one 
name,  with  many  accompanying  epithets.  As  a  fire 
gathers  strength,  the  muttering  rose  into  a  crackle,  the 

189 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

crackle  into  a  roar  and  the  roar  became  a  howl  in  which 
only  one  word  was  distinct  —  "  Crispi !  " 

The  police  took  themselves  out  of  the  way  ("What 
could  such  a  few,  however  brave,  do  against  that?"  as 
one  officer  put  it).  The  crowd,  moved  as  though  by  a 
single  mind,  started  in  the  direction  of  the  outskirts,  grow- 
ing as  it  went.  In  a  very  short  time  it  came  to  the  beau- 
tiful villa  which  the  Prime  Minister  had  built  to  house 
his  leisure,  and  then,  with  a  yell,  broke  for  it. 

How  it  was  saved  from  fire  is  a  miracle.  Perhaps  the 
people  had  a  shrewd  idea  that  such  a  loss  might  be  made 
good  by  insurance,  though  crowds,  as  a  rule,  are  not  apt 
to  think.  But  even  fire  could  not  have  added  much  to 
the  result,  for  the  villa  was  gutted  from  top  to  bottom, 
the  doors  and  windows  smashed,  china,  curtains,  and 
tapestries  destroyed,  pictures  wrecked  —  it  was  as  though 
a  typhoon  had  blown  through  it.  The  gardens  were 
ruined  too,  and  the  gates  torn  off  their  hinges.  The 
cellar,  needless  to  say,  was  drained  dry  —  probably  at 
the  start,  for  the  mob  took  their  time. 

That  brought  Crispi  to  the  earth.  His  courage  was 
never  his  strongest  feature.  Even  in  the  shadow  of  Gari- 
baldi's wing,  he  used  to  shrink  sometimes,  and  now  he 
collapsed  completely,  taking  his  colleagues  with  him. 
That  was  the  end  of  the  war.  As  the  pious  natives  of 
the  "  Penisola  "  said:  "The  devil  has  eaten  his  child 
at  last  —  let  us  hope  that  his  stomach  is  strong!  " 

We  were  at  Sant'  Agnello  when  the  local  contingent 
—  the  little  that  remained  of  it  —  returned  from 
Massouah;  had  the  Sorrentini  caught  a  glimpse  of  Crispi 

190 


SUNSHINE    AND   SHADOW    IN    PENISOLA 

at  that  time  he  would  have  been  torn  limb  from  limb. 
The  invalids  were  housed  in  the  old  palace  on  the  square 
of  Massa,  and  it  became  painful  to  drive  past  there,  so 
pitiful  was  the  aspect  of  the  pale,  maimed  ghosts  who 
wandered  about  or  sat  in  the  sun,  looking  at  everything 
with  despairing,  stony  eyes.  The  doctor  who  had  been 
through  the  campaign  with  them  told  me  that  its  horrors 
had  been  beyond  description.  No  ambulance  corps  was 
provided;  the  wounded  lay  where  they  fell  till  the  wives 
of  Menelik's  warriors  came  out  to  perpetrate  every 
species  of  torture  and  outrage  on  their  helpless  bodies; 
those  who  died  were  the  fortunate  ones  —  the  few 
survivors  would  be  invalids  all  their  lives.  One  poor 
fellow  who  had  escaped  the  notice  of  the  torturers  by 
some  happy  chance  —  probably  they  thought  he  was 
dead —  said  that  he  had  lain  for  two  days  and  nights 
on  that  fatal  field  and  then,  addressing  a  fervent  prayer 
to  our  Lady  of  Pompeii,  had  got  to  his  feet  and  walked 
for  another  day  or  two,  at  the  end  of  which,  to  his  over- 
whelming joy,  he  had  found  himself  at  home!  It  was 
useless  to  Insist  that  he  must  have  been  light-headed  with 
fever  caused  by  his  wound  —  that  no  human  feet  could 
walk  from  Massouah  to  Sorrento.  He  knew  better;  the 
Blessed  Madonna  had  indeed  accompanied  him  and  here 
he  was!  "La  Madonna  v'accompagnl !  "  (May  Our 
Lady  accompany  you)  Is  the  usual  farewell  in  South  Italy, 
and  those  were  probably  the  last  words  his  family 
addressed  to  him  when  he  left  home. 

As  one  climbs  the  hills  behind  Sant'  Agnello  the  climate 
seems  to  change;  the  air  growing  cool  and  thin,  more  of 

191 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

the  sea  than  of  the  land.  For  a  time  one  follows  the  deep, 
narrow  roads  that  wind  between  high  brick  walls  — 
dusty  underfoot,  but  garlanded  overhead  with  vines  and 
pomegranates  and  oleanders  spilling  over  every  wall-top 
from  the  carefully  tended  "  vigna  "  within.  Of  this  the 
surface  is  only  two  or  three  feet  below  the  parapet  on  the 
inner  side,  the  roads  having  been  cut,  like  the  lanes  in 
Devonshire,  by  the  traffic  of  ages,  some  twenty  or  thirty 
feet  lower.  This  disposition  gives  the  owners  of  the  land 
distinct  advantages  in  the  way  of  ready-made  drainage, 
holes  being  left  in  the  walls  at  fairly  regular  intervals, 
through  which  the  moisture  can  escape  when  the  precious 
soil  within  has  had  its  fill.  But  it  gives  them  something 
which  they,  together  with  all  the  inhabitants  of  South 
Italy,  prize  still  more  —  the  pleasant  and  varied  vantage 
points  from  which  they  can  lean,  with  crossed  elbows  and 
in  glorious  inaction,  to  watch  the  world  below. 

In  Rome  the  daily  and  never-failing  recreation  of  the 
women  of  the  lower  classes  is  to  pass  an  hour  or  two  at  the 
window  when  all  the  rest  of  the  world  is  abroad.  For  this 
they  dress  their  hair  elaborately,  don  a  freshly  starched 
white  "  camisole,"  and,  always  in  couples,  lean  on  the  red 
strip  of  cushion  provided  for  the  purpose,  and  watch  and 
discuss  the  passers-by  below,  just  as  we  watch  and  discuss 
the  actors  in  a  play.  Every  suburban  villa  has,  beside 
its  front  gate,  a  large  window  set  high  in  the  wall,  with  a 
widely  projecting  grating.  Within,  a  flight  of  steps  leads 
up  to  a  tiny  square  terrace  with  stone  seats  —  from  which 
everything  that  happens  in  the  world  outside  —  a  squad- 
ron of  cavalry  riding  by,  a  funeral  accompanied  by  a  long 

192 


SUNSHINE   AND   SHADOW    IN    PENISOLA 

procession  of  chanting  monks,  a  quarrel  between  two 
tipsy  wine-carters,  a  Cardinal's  carriage  or  a  fashionable 
woman's  victoria  —  all  can  be  seen  and  enjoyed  to  the  full. 
Down  in  the  Penisola  the  vigna-parapet  supplies  the 
same  want,  and  the  gregarious,  sociable  folk  can  ex- 
change opinions  and  gossip  very  comfortably  across  the 
road  far  above  the  heads  of  those  who  travel  it.  From 
below  one  catches  quaint  pictures  sometimes.  I  remember 
one  old  fellow  whom  we  used  to  call  "  the  Roman  Ghost," 
so  completely  did  he  carry  out  one's  idea  of  a  prosperous 
"  vignarolo  "  under  the  Emperors.  He  had  one  attribute 
of  a  ghost,  at  any  rate  —  he  always  appeared  in  the  same 
spot  and  in  the  same  attitude;  leaning  with  both  hands 
on  the  parapet,  he  looked  down  on  us  poor  barbarians 
with  joyful  contempt,  the  sun  playing  on  his  broad  white 
head  through  the  dancing  green  of  the  vine  leaves,  and 
making  Dionysian  patterns  on  his  spotless  white  clothes. 
He  had  the  heavy  jaws  and  strongly  marked  features  of 
the  pampered  slave  who  fawned  and  flattered  his  master 
into  making  him  a  freedman,  and  the  brilliantly  intelli- 
gent dark  eyes  that  would  never  fail  to  discern  an  op- 
portunity for  self-advancement.  With  the  fulness  of 
gratified  carnal  desires  written  all  over  him,  yet  the  crea- 
ture shone  with  the  light  of  animal  happiness,  and  had  the 
gods  ever  consented  to  grow  old,  might  have  stood  for  one 
who  had  renounced  the  chill  glories  of  Olympus  to  end 
his  days  among  the  sun  and  vines  of  earth.  Why  do 
people  who  have  painters'  eyes  so  often  miss  having 
painters'  fingers?  I  would  have  given  so  much  to  per- 
petuate that  queer  vision! 

193 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

Another  I  had,  and  a  most  lovely  one,  on  the  heights 
leading  to  Sant'  Agata.  I  was  driving  alone  and  revelling 
in  the  thin,  clear  air,  all  perfumed  with  the  wild  myrtle 
in  full  flower  and  the  honey-scented  yellow  broom,  when 
I  saw  coming  towards  me,  on  one  of  the  narrow  terraces 
that  separate  the  olive  trees,  a  striking  little  procession. 
Four  young  girls,  evidently  "  Children  of  Mary,"  dressed 
in  white,  with  blue  girdles,  and  wearing  wreaths  of  white 
flowers  on  their  heads,  came  singing  a  hymn  and  carry- 
ing on  their  shoulders  a  coffin  —  a  small,  pretty  coffin  cov- 
ered with  crimson  velvet  and  studded  with  gold  nails  in 
which  the  sunshine,  through  the  flickering  olive  branches, 
made  twinkling  corruscations.  It  was  some  young  maid 
of  their  playfellows,  whose  body  they  were  carrying 
to  the  Parish  Church  for  its  obsequies.  They  swung  along 
lightly  enough,  and  though  their  pretty  faces  were  grave, 
their  eyes  shone  with  happy  peace  —  the  little  friend 
must  have  been  a  good  child  and  was  surely  safe  in 
Paradise! 

It  was  a  great  contrast  to  another  funeral  in  which 
I  had  had  to  take  an  active  part  earlier  in  the  year  — 
that  of  a  poor  little  Russian  woman  whom  her  doctors 
had  sent  to  Sorrento  to  die  of  consumption.  They  had 
told  her  that  once  across  the  Alps  she  would  find  her- 
self in  perpetual  summer  (!)  and  she  and  her  husband 
had  brought  scarcely  any  warm  clothes  with  them.  He 
was  a  small  official  of  some  kind  —  the  most  depressed, 
puzzled  creature  I  ever  saw.  They  put  up  at  a  very 
cheap  *'  pension,"  and  for  all  the  weeks  of  his  leave  he 
sat  there  watching  her  die,  while  she  fought  the  idea  of 

194 


SUNSHINE   AND   SHADOW    IN    PENISOLA 

death  with  furious  tenacity.  She  would  not  die  —  she 
was  going  to  get  well,  quite  well!  The  husband  had  to 
return  to  his  post;  a  married  sister  came  from  Odessa 
to  take  his  place  for  the  little  time  that  remained  —  and 

then,  bitterly  unwilling,  poor  little  Madame gave 

up  the  fight  and  died. 

Now,  to  die  in  an  Italian  hotel  is  to  give  the  greatest 
offence  to  its  proprietor,  because  such  an  incident 
will  probably  scare  away  all  his  guests;  so  we  had  to 
keep  the  thing  secret  for  the  one  night  and  day 
that  intervened  before  arrangements  could  be  made 
for  the  burial.  The  innkeeper  threatened  to  ask  heavy 
damages  if  any  one  came  to  know  of  it!  Meanwhile, 
the  sister  from  Odessa  swore  that  everything  should  be 
done  in  the  fashion  of  her  own  country,  and  rushed  round 
to  the  shops  to  buy  white  tarlatan  and  ribbon  for  the 
ball  dress;  and,  especially,  a  pair  of  white  satin  shoes  — 
no  self-respecting  people  would  bury  a  young  woman  in 
anything  else !  At  last  she  got  it  all  together  —  and 
showed  me  her  handiwork  proudly  —  the  blue  velvet 
coffin,  the  ball  dress,  and  those  white  satin  shoes  on  the 
bare  dead  feet  —  it  was  grim  in  the  extreme.  But 
grimmer  was  the  business  of  getting  the  poor  body  away, 
after  dark,  when  all  the  visitors  were  gathered  in  the 
dining-room  at  the  table  d'hote,  whence  came  sounds  of 
talk  and  laughter  and  much  clattering  of  knives  and  forks. 
We  must  not  have  the  coffin  carried  down  stairs,  lest 
some  one  should  see  it,  so  it  was  pushed  out  of  a  side 
window  onto  a  terrace  just  below,  and  from  there 
lowered  with  ropes  for  some  twenty  feet  to  the  hearse. 

195 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

It  was  a  pitch  dark  night  and  no  lights  were  allowed  — 
one  felt  as  if  one  were  helping  some  murderer  to 
dispose  of  the  slain. 

The  Russian  priest  could  not  come  over  from  Naples 
for  a  couple  of  days  to  attend  to  the  funeral,  so  the  coffin 
had  to  be  left  in  one  of  the  gaterooms  of  the  cemetery, 
a  room  where  the  guardian  of  the  place  kept  his  squalid 
toilet  arrangements  scattered  about  anyhow,  and  where 
somebody  had  dumped  a  huge  plaster  Venus  —  Heaven 
knows  why  —  perhaps  in  the  hope  of  selling  her  to  some 
unwary  foreigner.  Two  tallow  candles  were  forth- 
coming, which  we  lighted  and  left  burning,  and  after 
kneeling  down  and  saying  a  few  prayers,  we  went  sadly 
home  —  leaving    the    mortal     remains    of    poor    little 

Madame in  that  grim  solitude.    The  ugliness  and 

humiliation  of  death  had  never  struck  me  so  forcibly 
before.  I  suppose  it  is  good  to  have  them  brought  home 
to  one,  —  and  to  realise  that,  after  all,  we  are  here  only 
"  Vermi "  —  and  yet,^  thank  God,  "  Nati  a  formal 
I'angelica  farfalla !  " 

*  "Worms  — born  to  become  the  angelic  butterfly." —  Dante. 


196 


IX 

RAVELLO,    CAPRI,    AND   ISCHIA 

A  Twilight  Drive  —  Ravello  by  Moonlight  —  "  The  Immortals  *'  —  Uncle 
Sam  at  the  Cocumella  —  A  Purely  Personal  Question  —  A  Squall  in  the 
Bay  —  The  Sun-smitten  Island  —  Uncle  Sam  at  Anacapri  —  "  Oh,  wenn  es 
nur  immer  so  bliebe!" — Doctor  Munthe's  Villa  —  The  Library  of  My 
Dreams  —  A  Homesick  Sphynx — Marion's  Rock-study  —  A  "  Festa 
on  the  Terrace"  —  The  Barber  Musician  and  His  Troupe  —  The  Catas- 
trophe of  Casamicciola  —  The  Parroco  and  His  Free-thinkers. 

MORE  than  once  in  my  life  I  have  felt  that  by  some 
grace  of  heaven  the  most  beautiful  sights  in  the 
world  were  shown  to  me  in  circumstances  so  befitting,  that 
I  would  never  have  planned  them  myself,  and  only  friend 
Nature  could  have  carried  them  out.  One  of  these  was 
my  first  visit  to  Ravello,  the  Norman-Moorish  palace  that 
hangs  like  a  flower  out  of  reach,  on  the  topmost  crag 
above  Amalfi  and  the  sea.  As  in  far  Japan  I  first  be- 
held the  great  Buddha  of  Kamakura  under  a  flood  of 
moonlight,^  so  also  at  Ravello  the  white  arches  and 
fretted  windows,  the  hanging  roses  and  pale  syringas 
of  the  fairy  palace  were  shown  to  me  first  under  a  full 
moon  whose  glory  takes  my  breath  away  as  I  remember  it. 
We  had  driven  over  from  Sorrento  in  the  afternoon 
—  dined  on  the  terrace  of  the  famous  Convent  hotel, 
wandered  under  the  vine-shaded  pergolas,   and,  just  as 

^  See  "A  Diplomatist's  Wife  in  Japan." 
197 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

the  sun  was  setting,  had  taken  carriage  for  the  long, 
rocky  road  to  Ravello.  It  was  in  the  late  summer,  and  the 
deep  ravine  whose  sides  we  climbed  and  skirted  was  dark 
with  velvety  foliage,  the  edge  of  the  path  all  fringed 
with  wild  rosemary  and  yellow  broom,  this  last  filling  the 
air  with  the  scent  of  honey.  Half-way  up,  our  drivers 
had  paused  to  make  us  call  up  the  weird  echo  that  lives  in 
a  cave  across  the  ravine.  Its  replies  were  so  prompt  and 
clear  and  mocking  that  to  this  day  I  cannot  rid  myself 
of  the  thought  that  the  sweet  voice  that  made  them  came 
from  a  human  throat.  "Good-bye,  Echo  1  "  some  one 
called,  and  as  the  answering  "  good-bye  "  floated  over 
the  intervening  depths,  we  moved  on,  reaching  the  tiny 
mountain  town  just  in  time  to  see  something  of  the 
Cathedral  by  twilight,  which  indeed  became  its  cool  By- 
zantine beauty  well.  But  the  great  attraction  is  the  Pa- 
lazzo Rufolo,  and  through  its  lovely  courts  and  gardens 
we  wandered  for  a  long  time,  unwilling  to  leave  the  exquis- 
ite, inaccessible  place  until  every  detail  of  it  should  have 
sunk  into  our  minds.  It  was  both  my  first  and  last  visit 
there.  I  never  have  wished  to  spoil  the  memory  of  it  by 
seeing  it  again.  Marion,  of  course,  knew  it  well,  as  he 
knew  every  point  of  the  coast,  and  it  was  here  that,  at  my 
sister  Daisy's  suggestion,  he  laid  the  scene  of  his  fanciful 
book,  "  The  Immortals."  I  was  at  the  other  side  of  the 
world  when  it  was  written,  but  the  other  members  of 
the  family  each  contributed  a  character;  Doctor  John- 
son was  Daisy's  admiration  of  the  moment  —  why,  I 
could  never  understand,  since  she  was  living  rather  in 
the  clouds  just  then.     Mrs.  Berdan,  Marion's  mother-in- 

198 


RAVELLO,    CAPRI,    AND   ISCHIA 

law,  was  responsible  for  Francis  I,  and  —  well,  I  forget 
the  rest  of  the  incongruous,  yet  attractive,  company  of 
shades  who  were  recalled  to  Earth  to  enlighten  and  up- 
lift the  circle  of  brainy  but  bored  people  whom  the  writer's 
imperious  fancy  called  into  being  to  populate  the  palace 
on  the  rocks. 

It  was  at  Sorrento,  in  1883,  that  Uncle  Sam  rose  once 
more  upon  our  horizon,  and  in  such  a  happy  mood  that, 
although  for  several  of  us  it  had  not  been  a  cheerful  year, 
the  rest  of  the  summer  became  one  long  smile.  Marion 
was  not  married  then  —  his  Villa  was  still  but  a  possession 
of  dreams  —  and  we  were  all  living  on  different  floors 
of  the  Cocumella,  which  place  became  at  once  a  kind  of 
family  home,  while  the  proprietor  and  his  wife,  the  good 
Gargiulos,  gathered  us  to  their  hearts  like  long-lost  rela- 
tions. I  forget  what  Uncle  Sam  had  been  doing  for  the 
past  few  years,  but  whatever  it  was  he  had  got  tired  of 
it,  and  for  a  while  he  only  asked  to  bask  in  the  sun,  be 
amused,  and  make  other  people  happy.  These  laudable 
desires  were  fully  satisfied.  It  seemed  as  if  the  Piano  di 
Sorrento  must  have  been  the  very  birthplace  of  his  soul, 
so  absolutely  did  its  sunny,  happy-go-lucky  atmosphere 
suit  his  mental  requirements.  He  used  to  sit  on  the  terrace, 
gazing  out  over  the  Bay,  just  intoxicated  with  beauty. 
Never  had  his  eyes  been  so  bright,  his  voice  so  musical, 
his  laugh  so  catching.  Active  as  a  boy,  he  would  go  out 
swimming  with  Marion  far  into  deep  water,  come  back 
and  join  us  nearer  shore  in  wonderful  feats  of  diving  and 
fancy  swimming,  sit  on  the  rocks  to  get  dry  while  he  watched 
my  two  little  boys  being  taught  the  elements  of  the  art 

199 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

by  Michele,  the  house's  official  boatman  —  then  slowly 
climb  the  long,  mysterious  stairways  through  the  clijff  to 
the  orange  garden  above  and,  fresh  as  any  of  us,  attack 
the  midday  meal  with  the  appetite  of  a  schoolboy.  After 
that,  we  women,  with  the  children,  relapsed  into  siesta, 
after  the  wise  Italian  habit,  but  Uncle  Sam  could  sit  in 
the  open  air  through  all  those  blazing  hours,  smoking, 
dreaming,  tasting  the  pure  balm  of  health  and  peace  and 
heat  as  I  think  he  had  never  tasted  it  before  —  and  never 
would  again,  alas !  for  the  next  summer  took  him  from  us. 

Such  thoughts  were  far  away,  however,  in  1883,  which 
I  knew  in  some  strange  way  must  be  the  close  of  my  youth. 
Not  because  I  was  already  over  thirty,  but  because  the 
real  issues  of  life  were  presenting  themselves  to  me 
clamorously  and  imperiously.  Through  many  hard 
conflicts  of  that  and  the  succeeding  year  the  presence  of 
those  two  men,  my  dear  brother  and  the  beloved  Uncle, 
sustained  my  courage  and  fostered  the  instinct  of  spirit- 
ual self-preservation  which  bitter  prejudice  in  other 
quarters  had  nearly  overcome.  If  these  personal  details 
are  thought  out  of  place  in  a  book  destined  for  the 
general  public  —  well,  the  general  public  must  remember 
that  in  its  apparently  well-ordered  ranks  there  must  be 
many  a  soul  undergoing  the  trials  that  assailed  me  then. 
On  one  side  conviction  so  profound  that  the  life  or  death 
of  my  soul  hung  on  following  or  forsaking  it  —  on  the 
other  inherited  beliefs  and  principles  too  invincible  to  be 
overcome. 

It  was  at  that  time  that  a  very  holy  friend 
who  had  been  turned  out  of  her  home   for   following 

200 


RAVELLO,    CAPRI,    AND    ISCHIA 

her  convictions,  wrote  to  me,  "  You  will  never  do  your 
dear  ones  any  good  so  long  as  you  are  resisting 
grace."  And  that  is  what  I  would  like  to  hand  on  to 
other  combatants  in  the  same  field,  together  with  what 
has  been  not  only  my  own  experience  but  that  of  many 
other  converts,  too  —  namely,  that,  as  a  rule,  these 
terrible  obstacles  are  all  '*  bogies,"  invented  and  put  for- 
ward by  that  arch-bully,  the  Devil,  to  frighten  us  away 
from  doing  our  duty.  Human  pity,  true  love,  even  in 
the  dear  hearts  we  are  so  regretfully  grieving,  above  all, 
the  never-failing  mercy  of  Heaven,  generally  prevail, 
and  when  at  last  one  has  trusted  the  righteousness  of 
one's  cause  and  taken  the  plunge,  the  strong  hand  carries 
one  on  past  all  the  dreaded  rocks  to  a  peaceful  and 
possible  harbour. 

The  time  of  waiting  and  weighing  conflicting  duties 
is  the  most  painful,  so  true  is  Hegel's  only  true  saying: 
"  Tragedy  is  not  the  conflict  between  Right  and  Wrong, 
but  the  conflict  between  Right  and  Right."  It  was  during 
all  this  period  that  my  brother  Marion's  sympathy  and 
Uncle  Sam's  unfailing  hopefulness  and  kindness  helped 
me  so  much.  To  Uncle  Sam  religion,  as  such,  did  not 
represent  what  It  meant  to  us,  but  his  second  wife,  my 
pretty  Aunt  Medora,  was  a  Catholic,  his  two  boys  were 
brought  up  in  her  faith,  and  his  feeling  towards  It  was 
always  one  of  affectionate  reverence.  Besides,  he  and  we 
were  of  the  same  stock  and  Inherited  the  blessed  power 
of  enjoying  all  delightful  things  to  the  utmost,  regardless 
of  dark  clouds  looming  on  the  horizon. 

Speaking  of  such  stormy  harbingers  reminds  me  of  a  try- 

201 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATISTS  WIFE 

ing  experience  that  we  had  in  the  Bay  that  summer.  Uncle 
Sam  took  it  into  his  head  to  sail  across  to  Naples  one  morn- 
ing and  eat  "  frutti  di  mare  "  at  Santa  Lucia.  Hugh  had 
come  down  from  Rome  for  a  few  days,  and  he,  a  real  lover 
of  the  sea,  was  easily  persuaded  to  join  us,  when,  towards 
ten  o'clock,  we  four  set  sail  in  Marion's  little  open  boat, 
the  Margherita.  The  wind  was  favourable  and  the  day 
divine;  we  made  the  "  Immacolatella  "  in  a  very  short 
time  and  had  an  enchanting  day  in  Naples,  ending  up  with 
dining  in  the  open  air  on  every  variety  of  "  sea  things 
strange  "  and  some  excellent  wine  which  Uncle  Sam  much 
appreciated.  When  we  descended  the  steps  to  our  boat, 
however,  our  four  sailors  shook  their  heads  and  pointed 
warningly  to  a  thin  black  line  on  the  far  horizon,  lying 
under  one  long,  pale  green  streak  of  sky.  There  was  a 
squall  coming,  they  said,  and  the  "  eccelentissimi  Signori," 
would  do  better  to  take  the  train  to  Castellammare  and 
drive  home  from  there.  They,  the  men,  would  return  the 
next  morning  —  it  was  not  a  safe  night  to  put  to  sea. 

Unhappily  my  three  men  belonged  to  the  large  class 
which  mistakes  prudence  for  cowardice.  Like  St.  Frangois 
de  Sales  —  who,  however,  applied  the  term  only  to  the 
limitation  of  large-handed  charity  —  they  could  have  said, 
*'  I  do  not  know  what  this  poor  virtue  of  Prudence  has 
done  to  me,  but  I  have  never  been  able  to  make  friends 
with  her!"  My  brother  had  only  that  summer  begun 
his  sailing  experiences  along  the  coast,  and  my  husband 
and  my  Uncle,  together  with  him,  laughed  at  our  sailors' 
entreaties  and  ordered  them  to  put  off  at  once.  Most 
unwillingly  they  did  so,   for  with  the  best  of  luck  they 

202 


RAVELLO,    CAPRI,    AND    ISCHIA 

would  have  to  row  all  the  way,  the  wind  coming  only  In 
short,  Ill-tempered  gusts,  first  from  one  quarter  and  then 
from  another. 

It  was  seven  o'clock  when  we  left  the  pier,  and  at 
eight  the  sea  suddenly  turned  Ink-black  and  we  saw 
one  long  white  line  like  a  razor-edge  racing  In  from  the 
open  sea.  The  next  moment  It  struck  our  beam  with  a 
screaming  onslaught  of  wind  and  water  that  all  but 
swamped  us  then  and  there.  I  have  ridden  out  bad  storms 
at  sea,  but  the  fighting  that  one  In  a  tiny  open  boat  surpassed 
them  all  for  terror,  wetness  and  misery.  No  one  spoke  — 
the  screaming  of  the  wind  made  speech  useless.  I  had 
been  trained  to  fear  nothing  so  much  as  the  showing  that 
I  was  afraid;  and  my  men,  of  course,  set  their  faces 
and  gave  no  sign.  The  poor  sailors'  countenances  showed 
ashy  white  against  the  blackness  around  us,  but  they  bent 
to  their  oars  like  heroes,  soon  catching  the  trick  of  skim- 
ming the  troughs  and  shooting  the  crests  of  the  huge 
breakers  without  shipping  more  water  than  we  could  carry. 
But  at  every  stroke  a  deluge  broke  over  us  and  I  was 
certain  that  my  last  hour  had  come.  It  seemed  as  if 
that  would  have  mattered  little  If  only  Hugh  were  not, 
literally,  in  the  same  boat.  If  we  were  both  drowned, 
as  seemed  Inevitable,  who  on  earth  was  going  to  take 
care  of  the  children? 

Between  the  gusts  of  the  squall  the  sailors  began 
to  entreat  to  be  allowed  to  take  us  to  Castellammare 
—  the  wind  was  blowing  us  that  way,  and  they  as- 
sured us  they  could  make  the  port  safely  In  less  than 
an  hour.     I  joined  my  entreaties  to  theirs,  but  Marion 

203 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

was  obdurate.  He  would  land  at  our  own  "  calata  "  — 
or  nowhere  —  so  we  laboured  on  through  the  darkness, 
pitchy  now,  only  directing  our  course  by  the  lights  in  the 
towns  on  the  Sorrento  side  when,  for  a  moment  or  two, 
they  became  visible  through  the  rain  and  the  breakers. 
We  certainly  "looped  the  loop"  that  night;  again  and 
again  we  were  carried  towards  Castellammare  to  beat 
and  fight  westwards  as  best  we  could.  The  sailors, 
drenched  and  exhausted,  had  been  promising  untold 
wax  candles  to  St.  Antonino  if  they  ever  reached  the 
shore. 

At  last  our  own  cliffs  loomed  dark  and  enormous  be- 
tween us  and  the  sky,  and  a  merciful  fall  of  the  wind  saved 
us  from  smashing  up  on  the  rocks.  I  felt  as  if  we  had  been 
out  all  night,  but  I  was  told  that  it  was  soon  after  eleven 
when  I  was  lifted  out  of  that  dreadful  little  boat  and  set 
on  my  feet  on  good  wet  stone  —  and  then  my  wrath  found 
tongue  to  express  my  opinion  of  the  menfolk  who  had 
exposed  me  to  such  a  trial.  The  others  escaped  me,  but 
my  husband  got  it  in  gasps  all  the  time  he  was  dragging  me 
up  the  long  steps  to  the  house,  where  we  presented  our- 
selves to  our  anxious  relatives  like  wraiths  from  the  deep 
sea  —  dripping,  blue-lipped,  unrecognisable.  The  heat  of 
my  anger,  I  fancy,  prevented  my  taking  cold,  but  it  was 
many  days  before  any  one  could  persuade  me  to  enter 
a  boat  again.  One  is  always  angry  at  having  been 
frightened  and,  though  I  have  had  to  spend  at  sea  what 
I  think  would  come  to  years  if  I  could  count  the  months 
of  my  many  long  voyages,  yet  I  am  never  free  from  that 
fear  of  drowning  which  came  to  me  first  when  I  was  five 

204 


RAVELLO,    CAPRI,    AND    ISCHIA 

years  old,  paddling  across  the  Atlantic  in  the  crazy  old 
Fulton,  among  fields  of  icebergs  —  through  blinding 
fog,  with  the  mournful  knelling  of  the  fogbells  going  on 
over  my  head  night  and  day.  A  good  tearing  storm  I 
don't  mind  a  bit  —  but  fog  and  icebergs  make  me  an 
abject  coward.  When  you  cannot  see  two  yards  on  deck, 
and  the  mercury  drops  thirty  degrees  in  as  many  seconds, 
death  seems  awfully  close  —  and  life  looks  most  dearly 
sweet! 

The  impression  of  our  squally  journey  across  the  Bay 
was  soon  wiped  out  by  a  very  charming  experience  —  the 
taking  of  dear  Uncle  Sam  to  Capri  for  a  couple  of  days, 
which  I  think  he  would  have  prolonged  indefinitely  if  we 
had  been  willing  to  leave  him  there.  The  sun-smitten 
island,  with  its  green  heights  basking  almost  shamelessly 
in  the  flood  of  light  and  heat,  has  a  curious  power  of  re- 
viving the  happiest  of  man's  merely  earthly  instincts  and 
making  a  joyful  innocent  animal  out  of  even  such  a 
philosopher  and  cosmopolitan  as  was  Uncle  Sam.  Sitting 
against  the  hot  terrace  wall  on  the  southern  side,  with  the 
hot,  blue  Mediterranean  spreading  away  to  where  the  blue 
of  the  sky  grows  white  hot  on  the  midday  horizon, 
the  thinking  man  becomes  merely  the  sentient  one,  content, 
as  Thoreau  was,  "  to  sit  and  grow  in  the  sun  like  corn." 
The  *'  vaporetto  "  comes  puffing  over  from  Naples  with 
the  mails,  the  bare-legged  Capri  goddesses  wade  out  into 
the  water,  ready  to  carry  your  trunk  on  their  heads  or 
you  on  their  shoulders  for  a  few  coppers;  the  "  vetturini  " 
farther  up  try  to  kill  each  other  and  drive  over  you  in 
their  fight  to  secure  a  fare  to  Pagano's  hotel;   there  are 

205 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

shops  and  restaurants  and  a  fair  imitation  of  Italian  sea- 
port life. 

But  when  once  you  are  over  the  crest  and  have  reached 
Anacapri,  all  that  is  left  behind;  silence,  warm  green 
silence  is  around  you.  You  can  watch  the  jessamines  and 
orange  blossoms  (the  dear,  fat,  ivory  orange  blossoms 
that  bloom  almost  all  the  year  round)  popping  and  burst- 
ing in  the  sunshine  till  their  scent  makes  you  lean  back 
against  the  wall  and  doze  in  a  dream  of  heady  fragrance. 
On  the  little  marble  table  beside  you  the  bubbles  come  and 
go  in  the  topaz-coloured  wine,  and  a  dish  —  ancient, 
highly  coloured  majolica  —  spills  over  some  of  its  pile  of 
flesh-tinted  "  fico  d'India  "  which  the  hostess's  cool,  white 
fingers  have  peeled  and  placed  there  to  keep  you  good  till 
dinner.  Who  wants  to  think  when  mere  living  is  such  a 
joy?  The  only  thought  that  comes  is,  "  Oh,  wenn  es  nur 
immer  so  bliebe !  " 

As  the  sun  begins  to  sink  towards  the  west  a  fairy 
breeze  comes  up  from  the  dimpling  sea,  and  the  palms 
and  orange  trees  sing  little  songs  of  gratitude.  Out  comes 
the  Signer  Pagano  of  the  moment,  all  smiles,  and  says, 
"  The  vaporetto  has  gone,  Eccellenza.  We  shall  have 
the  happiness  of  keeping  you  till  to-morrow!  "  And  one 
sighs,  remembering  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  to-morrow 
and  that  it  will  snatch  one  out  of  this  Eden  dreamland 
back  to  the  world  of  mental  chores,  of  conflicting  claims 
and  unfulfilled  duties  tripping  you  up  at  every  turn.  Never 
mind,  there  are  twenty-four  hours  of  paradise  left  to 
enjoy  first,  and  Capri  will  not  swim  out  to  sea;  it  has 
been  the  same  since  the  days  of  Tiberius  and  for  ages 

206 


RAVELLO,    CAPRI,    AND   ISCHIA 

before  that  —  with  its  beautiful  women,  its  incomparable 
grapes,  its  tropical  life-giving  heat.  I  was  there  oace  in 
January  and  the  place  seemed  as  hot  as  in  August.  One 
did  not  dare  to  stand  in  the  sun  without  an  umbrella. 

As  a  contrast  to  Pagano's  hothouse  of  an  inn,  I  recall 
Doctor  Munthe's  villa  built  on  the  other  side,  on  the  very 
spire  of  a  crest  that  juts  out  into  the  sea  and  looks  towards 
the  Punta  della  Campanella,  the  low,  rocky  promontory, 
that  marks  the  end  of  the  Penisola  and  divides  the  Bay 
of  Naples  from  the  Gulf  of  Salerno.  That  is  a  land  view, 
so  to  speak,  the  "  Campanella  "  being  not  more  than  fifteen 
miles  away,  and,  stretching  along  behind  it,  the  towering 
heights  that  culminate  in  Monte  Sant'  Angelo,  rising  like  a 
giant  watch-tower  between  the  Piano  di  Sorrento  and  the 
world  to  the  south.  Across  the  Bay  was  the  magic  out- 
line of  Vesuvius,  sloping  so  softly  down  to  far-away 
Naples,  which  looks  by  daylight  like  a  great  string  of  pink 
corals  flung  down  on  the  shore  and  at  night  like  a  neck- 
lace of  stars  just  dropped  from  the  sky. 

Munthe's  villa  was  not  Italian  at  all.  He  had  found  the 
remains  of  an  old  convent  on  the  spot,  small,  secluded 
courts  and  white-pillared  cloisters,  and  had  reverently 
kept  to  the  old  idea  while  utilising  every  point  to  make  a 
possible  modern  dwelling  house.  It  was  not  large,  but 
the  pavilions  and  courts  were  separated  by  marble-paved 
walks  through  soft,  shadowy  greenery,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  I  had  succeeded  in  losing  the  rest  of  the  party 
and  enjoying  the  most  perfect  solitude. 

Pausing  to  rest  in  a  little  court  with  low  fretted 
balustrades    and    moss-damasked    seats,    I    saw   before 

207 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

me  a  low,  pointed  archway,  closed  by  a  heavy  oak  door 
splendid  with  old  ironwork  bolts  and  hinges.  It  gave  to 
my  touch  and  I  entered  the  only  room  I  have  ever  coveted 
in  my  life,  a  library  that  must  once  have  been  the  chapel. 
It  was  of  perfect  proportions,  with  oaken  rafters  rising 
to  meet  overhead ;  all  round  the  walls  were  the  old  carved 
stalls,  reverently  polished,  and  of  lustrous  darkness.  On 
the  raised  dais  at  the  top  stood  the  lectern  for  the  reader, 
a  magnificent  old  missal  spread  open  for  the  delicate 
blues  and  golds  of  the  Illuminations  to  catch  the  light. 
Carved  tables  ran  down  the  centre  of  the  space,  with 
more  missals,  bossed  and  clasped,  piled  here  and  there, 
and  over  all  was  the  cool,  clear  light  that  readers  dream 
of  and  can  scarcely  ever  obtain,  falling  through  high 
mullloned  windows  where  leaf  shadows  twined  and  en- 
twined in  a  "  moire  "  of  green  and  gold  as  the  sun  and 
breeze  had  their  will  of  them  outside.  The  place  was 
absolutely  holy  In  Its  seclusion  and  peace  —  a  kind  of 
Thebald  for  the  spirit  where,  surely.  If  the  spirit  came  in 
purified  and  humble  mood,  the  heavenly  spirits  that  have 
never  been  anything  but  pure  and  humble  would  not  dis- 
dain to  visit  and  converse  with  it. 

Leaving  regretfully  this  lovely  sanctuary  of  thought, 
I  went  on  through  the  garden  and  suddenly  drew  back, 
alarmed,  for  it  seemed  as  if  another  step  would  fling  me 
down  into  the  sea,  hundreds  of  feet  below.  So  sudden  was 
the  revelation  that  I  clung  to  the  parapet  dizzily  for  a 
minute  —  and  then,  looking  up,  found  that  I  was  leaning 
against  the  flank  of  a  great  white  marble  sphynx,  whose 
pale,  inscrutable  profile  between  me  and  the  sky  struck 

208 


RAVELLO,    CAPRI,    AND    ISCHIA 

a  strange  note  of  fatality  in  that  serene  and  lonely  place. 
There  she  sits,  on  the  last  jutting  point  of  rock,  between 
sea  and  sky,  looking  towards  the  mainland  with  unseeing, 
stony  eyes,  as  if  dreaming  of  the  golden  Egyptian  sands 
and  the  mystic  Nile  that  are  her  birthright.  "  I  brought 
her  from  Egypt,  myself,"  said  Doctor  Munthe.  "  She 
is  homesick,  but  she  likes  the  view." 

His  was  an  interesting  personality.  In  him,  upon  the 
innate  mysticism  of  the  North,  there  had  grafted  itself 
a  devout  love  of  beauty  and  a  power  of  sympathy  which 
many  people  mistook  for  an  occult  force  —  so  completely 
did  he  dominate  his  patients  for  their  good;  and  to  this 
was  added  a  certain  generous  recklessness  of  outlook, 
which  caused  him  to  suffer  acutely  when  he  came  in  con- 
tact with  the  meanness  and  hypocrisy  so  common  in  the 
world.  He  had  the  memory  of  a  heart-rending  private 
tragedy  to  companion  him  night  and  day,  a  tragedy  com- 
paratively recent  when  I  fell  in  with  him,  but  it  seemed  to 
have  been  an  inspiration  towards  higher  things,  to  have 
made  him  only  feel  the  more  tenderly  for  others  in  trouble. 
How  he  could  feel  was  shown  in  his  book,  "  A  Mourning 
City,"  which  wrung  all  hearts  by  its  account  of  bright, 
happy  Naples  suffering  under  the  scourge  of  the  cholera. 
He  had  devoted  months  to  trying  to  save  the  life  of  one 
lovely  girl  —  snatched  away  at  sixteen  by  consumption, 
and  when  I  saw  him  he  had  just  returned  from  visiting 
the  family  —  to  find  that  her  twin  sister  was  already  far 
on  the  same  road,  —  Munthe  had  tears  in  his  eyes  as  he 
told  me,  —  too  far  to  recall,  as  events  showed. 

It  must  have  been  some  time  during  the  next  winter  that 

209 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

I  happened  to  wander  In  to  have  a  chat  with  my  former 
playmate,  Waldo  Story,  in  his  garden  studio  near  the  site 
of  our  old  Villa  Negroni,  and  saw  the  monument  he  had 
just  completed  for  the  first  girl's  grave,  —  a  life-size  statue- 
portrait  of  her  in  pure  white  marble,  lying  as  if  asleep 
and  dreaming  happily,  on  a  couch  all  fringed  and  wreathed 
with  roses  —  a  monument  as  serenely  delicate  and  gentle 
as  the  old  Roman  one  that  I  have  always  loved,  the 
bas-relief  of  a  little  ship  just  gathered  into  port,  with 
smiling  Loves  hovering  over  it  to  furl  the  sails. 

I  think  the  great  doctor  had  built  his  Capri  villa  more 
for  the  sake  of  knowing  it  was  there  than  with  any  hope  of 
inhabitating  it  permanently;  which  was  just  as  well,  per- 
haps, for  Capri  is  too  enchanting  to  prove  a  vitalising 
home  for  northern  spirits.  As  a  temporary  sojourn  it  does 
them  worlds  of  good  (was  it  not  in  Capri  that  Schaffel 
wrote  the  immortal  "  Trompeter  von  Sakkingen"?)  — 
but  more  than  one  promising  artist  and  writer  has 
found  the  place  fatal  to  labour  and  ambition.  When  we 
of  the  south  hear  that  such  an  one  has  settled  in  Capri 
we  sigh,  "good-bye,  friend!  "  Fallen  nature  finds  it  all 
too  easy  to  drift  into  sloth  and  inanity  in  that  Lotus  land 
where  life  smiles  all  the  year  round  —  and  costs  so  little  I 

Sorrento  has  quite  another  atmosphere  and  we  have  all 
found  it  favourable  enough  to  brain-work  at  all  times. 
Marion  was  the  only  one  who  attempted  this  when  Uncle 
Sam  was  with  us  there,  however.  He  wrote  In  the  open 
air,  making  a  study  In  the  recess  of  one  of  the  huge, 
arched  windows  that  afford  light  to  the  long  stairways  cut 
inside  the  rock  to  give  access  to  the  otherwise  unapproach- 

2IO 


RAVELLO,    CAPRI,    AND    ISCHIA 

able  cove  which  was  the  Hotel's  "  Marina."  I  came  upon 
my  brother  every  morning  with  the  same  sense  of  pleas- 
ure and  surprise,  as  I  emerged  from  one  of  the  darkest 
of  those  long  flights  to  another  which  led  down  to  his 
landing.  There  he  sat  at  his  little  table,  his  beautiful 
profile  cut  clear  against  the  calm,  empty  sweep  of  sea  and 
sky,  with  the  high,  irregular  arch  for  a  frame,  and  some 
long  streamers  of  the  wild  caper,  with  its  yellow  blos- 
soms, waving  in  and  out  on  the  breeze.  An  earthenware 
jug  of  water  always  stood  on  the  ground  beside  his  chair, 
and  that  and  a  plate  of  maccheroni  carried  down  at  mid- 
day was  all  he  took  by  way  of  sustenance  till  his  writing 
hours  were  over,  —  nor  might  any  one  speak  to  him  till 
then.  But  when  they  were  over,  he  wanted  all  the  change 
and  amusement  attainable,  and  he  was  not  happy  unless 
we  were  all  happy  and  amused  too. 

What  "  festas  "  we  organised  that  summer!  An 
anniversary,  a  birthday,  anything  served  for  an  excuse,  and 
then  the  terrace  of  my  mother's  apartment  was  hung  all 
round  with  Chinese  lanterns  swinging  like  fairy  fruit 
among  the  vines,  the  table  was  covered  with  carnations 
and  sweet  verbena,  some  wonderful  vintage  was  dug  out 
of  the  cellars,  and  the  Cocumella  cook  would  surpass  him- 
self to  provide  a  feast  that  should  give  satisfaction  to  the 
adored  "  Signorino  Mario." 

Then,  when  dinner  was  cleared  away  and  the  coffee 
and  cigarettes  were  going  round,  the  famous  Tarantella 
company  would  be  ushered  in  —  Giacchino  the  barber, 
first  tenor,  composer,  dancer,  and  mandolinist,  his  beau- 
tiful wife  (on  whose  account  it  was  said  that  he  suffered 

21  I 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

agonies  of  jealousy),  with  three  other  couples,  as  young 
and  handsome  as  heart  could  desire  —  all  in  their  most 
brilliant  costumes.  How  they  sang  and  danced  and 
played,  those  artisan  artists  of  the  Penisola !  What 
voices  they  had  —  what  grace  and  swing !  Uncle 
Sam  went  nearly  crazy  with  delight  the  first  time  they 
performed  for  him,  and  I  must  say  that  we  all  lost  our 
heads  a  little  that  night  —  there  was  something  so  subtly 
intoxicating  about  it  all ! 

Suddenly  Uncle  Sam  looked  troubled.  He  turned  to 
me  and  asked,  quite  sternly,  "  Why  are  n't  the  little  boys 
here  to  enjoy  this?"  I  reminded  him  that  it  was  long 
past  their  bedtime,  and  that  the  eldest  had  been  very  ill 
all  the  spring  and  must  not  be  excited  in  any  way  for  a 
long  time  to  come.  "  Well,  I  shall  go  and  get  Nino, 
he  shan't  miss  it,  at  any  rate  ! "  he  replied,  rising,  and  a  few 
minutes  later  he  returned  with  my  smallest  boy  in  his  arms, 
wrapped  up  in  a  blanket,  smiling  sleepily.  For  the  rest 
of  the  evening  Uncle  Sam  held  him  on  his  knee,  and  the 
child  laughed  and  sang  with  the  singers  and  had  his  little 
sip  of  wine  —  and  repeated  all  the  songs  for  us  the  next 
day. 

Sometimes,  on  quiet  evenings,  when  the  moonlight  lay 
silent  on  the  sea  and  the  vine-garlands  seemed  cut  in 
verde-antico  against  the  sky,  Marion  and  Daisy  would 
sing  strange  old  songs  that  set  one  dreaming  —  or  cry- 
ing, as  the  case  might  be.  Once  Daisy  made  my  brother 
into  an  Egyptian  deity,  with  close,  square-drawn,  white 
draperies  that  looked  like  marble  in  the  moonlight,  and 
as  he  sat  there,  still  as  marble  itself,  his  hands  on  tha 

212 


RAVELLO,    CAPRI,    AND   ISCHIA 

arms  of  the  stone  seat,  looking  out  to  sea,  he  began  to 
sing  a  strange  old  chant  that  he  had  heard  somewhere 
on  the  coast  —  the  oldest  known  chant  in  the  world,  he 
told  us  afterwards.  His  voice  then  was  very  pure  and 
strong,  and  the  effect,  as  the  solemn  notes  poured  out  in 
the  still  moonlit  night,  was  unutterably  soul-stirring. 

It  was  on  a  night  of  that  same  year  (the  5th  of  August, 
if  I  remember  rightly)  that  my  sister  Daisy  and  I  hap- 
pened to  be  standing  alone  on  the  terrace  enjoying  the 
coolness  and  silence  that  had  come  down  with  the  dark- 
ness, —  a  peculiar  silence,  I  remember,  unbroken  by  the 
tinkle  of  a  single  mandolin  or  even  the  usual  lapping  of 
the  water  against  the  cliff.  Vesuvius  had  growled  a  little, 
but  we  were  too  accustomed  to  that  to  take  any  notice 
of  it,  and  now  it,  too,  was  still,  its  heavy  cap  of  smoke 
hanging  dark  and  sultry  against  the  starlit  sky.  Suddenly 
a  terrific  report  smote  the  silence,  one  great  "  boom  "  that 
rolled  away  and  repeated  itself  again  and  again  in  the 
mountains  behind  us  and  the  vast  caves  and  stairways 
that  honeycombed  the  rocks  below.  For  a  moment  we 
were  terrified  —  we  had  never  heard  anything  quite 
like  that  before  —  but  when  the  echoes  had  died  away 
and  nothing  seemed  to  have  happened  we  concluded  that 
it  was  just  some  new  caprice  of  our  neighbour,  the  vol- 
cano, and  soon  forgot  all  about  it. 

In  'the  grey  of  the  dawn,  next  morning,  a  crazed,  gib- 
bering creature,  covered  with  blood  and  almost  dead  with 
exhaustion,  rowed  to  our  Marina,  was  pulled  in  by  some 
of  the  fishermen,  and  collapsed  on  the  sand,  crying  that 
Ischia  had  gone  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea.     They  tried 

213 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

to  calm  him,  washed  his  wounds  and  gave  him  food  and 
drink,  but  he  persisted  in  his  story,  repeating,  with  many 
tears,  "  Ischia  is  destroyed,  there  is  nothing  left!  "  Con- 
cluding that  the  poor  fellow  was  a  maniac,  the  Sindaco 
was  preparing  to  take  charge  of  him,  when  the  news  of  the 
Casamicciola  catastrophe  came  over  the  wires,  and  the 
appalling  extent  of  the  disaster  caused  the  first  herald 
of  it  to  be  forgotten.  The  hot  springs  for  which 
Casamicciola  was  famous  had  so  mined  the  soil  on  which 
the  town  stood  that  it  was  reduced  to  a  mere  crust  cov- 
ering vast  reservoirs  of  boiling,  sulphurous  water.  The 
surface  must  have  given,  soon,  although  there  had 
been  no  sinking  that  could  be  appreciated;  but  when 
a  series  of  earthquake  shocks  struck  it  the  place 
crumbled  at  once  and  the  destruction  was  most  awfully 
complete. 

It  was  the  height  of  the  season  for  the  baths,  and 
the  hotels  were  crowded  with  visitors,  most  of  whom 
perished,  either  crushed  under  the  debris  or  scalded  in 
the  torrents  of  the  unlocked  springs.  Those  who  sur- 
vived spoke  of  the  overwhelming  suddenness  of  the 
disaster  —  there  was  no  time  to  rise  from  a  seat  before 
the  walls  of  the  room  crashed  down  upon  them.     One 

man,   I   remember.   Prince ,   had  been  sitting  on   a 

sofa,  talking  to  a  very  well-known  and  charming  woman, 
when  a  heavy  bureau  skated  across  the  floor  to  her,  and 
the  next  instant  the  house  had  fallen  in,  floor  dropping 
through   floor  and  burying  the  unhappy  victims  under 

mountains  of  masonry.     Prince said  that  when  he 

came  to  himself  he  was  standing  with  his  back  against  a 

214 


RAVELLO,    CAPRI,    AND    ISCHIA 

wall,  in  perfect  darkness;  feeling  before  him  he  found 
that  he  had  been  saved  by  some  large  planks,  which  had 
been  thrown,  as  if  to  protect  him,  against  the  same  wall, 
slanting  outwards  like  the  sides  of  a  wigwam  and  leav- 
ing exactly  standing  room  for  one  person.  Above  and 
beyond  them  were  piles  of  ruined  masonry  and  wood- 
work which  they  were  solid  enough  to  support  without 
giving  way.  The  prisoner  realised  that  he  must  stand 
there  until  he  was  rescued,  and  he  wound  up  his  repeater 
watch  to  mark  the  passing  of  the  hours. 

For  two  days  and  nights  he  thus  kept  count  of  the  time. 
Numbers  of  troops  were  told  off  to  dig  out  the  victims, 
and  those  who  were  alive  at  least  had  the  consolation  of 
hearing  the  unceasing  sound  of  picks  and  shovels;  but 
the  soil  was  quaking  and  heaving  still,  more  ruin  was 
going  on  under  repeated  shocks  of  earthquake,   and  it 

was  necessary  to  proceed  with  caution.     Prince was 

one  of  the  first  rescued.  The  body  of  the  poor  lady 
who  had  been  talking  with  him  was  not  found  till  sev- 
eral days  later,  and  recognised  only  by  the  rich  lace  on 
her  dress. 

One  baby  of  a  few  months  old  was  unearthed,  safe  and 
smiling,  but  very  hungry,  towards  the  end  of  the  second 
day.  It  was  lying  on  the  bed  on  which  it  had  been  placed 
for  the  night,  and,  through  the  floor  above,  a  very  large, 
high  table  had  fallen  foursquare  exactly  over  the  bed  to 
make  a  roof  for  it.  No  engineer  could  have  devised  a 
better  protection.  I  forget  how  many  hundreds  of  poor 
souls  perished — even  the  hospital  of  the  Sisters  of  Charity 
close  to   the   sea,   where   they  had  some  two   hundred 

215 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

rickety  little  invalids,  was  not  spared  and  some  lives  were 
lost  there.  Those  who  were  dug  out  alive  seemed  to  have 
been  more  or  less  unconscious  of  the  flight  of  time,  and, 
in  many  cases,  of  everything  else,  having  been  stunned  to 
start  with.  One  old  peasant  woman  was  excavated 
after  twelve  days'  burial,  briskly  alive  still !  She  thought 
two  days  only  had  passed  since  her  imprisonment  and 
said  that  she  had  slept  a  great  part  of  the  time. 

Refuges  were  at  once  opened  in  Naples  for  the  sur- 
vivors, many  of  whom  were  badly  injured,  and,  where 
the  regular  inhabitants  of  Casamicciola  were  concerned, 
had  lost  everything  they  had  in  the  world.  There  were 
great  numbers  of  orphans,  very  small  children,  who  had 
perhaps  escaped  death  by  not  sharing  in  the  panic  which 
caused  older  persons  to  rush  into  the  streets  and  be 
crushed  by  the  walls  which  mostly  fell  outwards.  Every- 
thing possible  was  done  to  relieve  the  suffering;  great 
sums  of  money  were  raised,  private  people  threw  open 
their  houses  and  converted  them  into  casual  wards  and 
hospitals,  and  the  poor  soldiers  who  had  the  grisly  task 
of  digging  out  the  bodies  continued  their  labour  for 
weeks  —  under  that  fierce  summer  sun ! 

Some  of  us  went  over  to  Naples  to  see  if  we  could  help 
at  all,  and  I  saw  there  a  beautiful  illustration  of  active 
charity.  A  foreign  woman  who  owned  a  large  villa  out- 
side the  town  had  turned  it  into  a  camp  for  the  refugees. 
The  salon  and  a  great  ballroom  were  crowded  with  beds 
where  pale,  still  terrified  women  were  being  nursed  back 
to  life,  and  on  the  lawns  outside  nearly  a  hundred  tiny 
children  were  playing   about   among  the   flowers  —  the 

216 


RAVELLO,    CAPRI,    AND   ISCHIA 

whole  great  company  being  tended  and  cared  for  by  the 
owner,  her  servants,  and  one  young  friend,  a  fair-haired 
German  girl  who  showed  us  round,  tears  of  pity  in  her 
blue  eyes,  and  a  baby  who  had  been  injured  held  in  her 
arms. 

Two  days  after  the  disaster  my  brother  sailed  over 
to  Casamicciola  and  remained  there  for  some  days,  rather 
to  our  dismay,  for  the  destruction  was  apparently  not 
over  then.  He  said  he  could  not  keep  away  any  longer 
and  went  to  do  what  he  could  for  the  poor  people.  He 
was  quite  prepared  to  meet  his  own  end  there,  if  neces- 
sary, and  went  to  Confession  and  Communion  before 
starting.  We  made  him  promise  not  to  sleep  on  shore, 
but  to  return  to  his  boat  every  night,  and  a  few  days 
later  he  returned  to  us  safely,  but  very  silent  and  sad, 
nor  would  he  ever  talk  of  what  he  had  seen. 

I  am  sorry  to  say  that  my  dear  Sorrentini  did  talk  a 
great  deal  and  not  very  charitably  about  poor  Casamicci- 
ola and  its  misfortunes.  The  Penisola  has  been  singu- 
larly blessed  in  some  ways.  No  shock  of  earthquake  has 
ever  been  felt  there;  when  Vesuvius  pours  out  ashes 
and  lava,  and  Naples  itself  is  threatened  with  destruction, 
the  opposite  coast  is,  barring  an  occasional  landslide  and 
slow  encroachments  of  the  sea,  calm  and  secure.  The 
Sorrentini,  whose  distinguishing  virtue  is  not  humility, 
attribute  this  immunity  to  a  special  favour  of  Heaven, 
bestowed  as  a  reward  for  their  strict  observance  of  the 
mandates  of  Religion  and  their  deep  respect  for  all  sacred 
things.  Very  different  was  the  case  of  Ischia,  and  our 
people  said  that  they  had  long  been  expecting  to  see 

217 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

the  judgment  of  Heaven  fall  on  the  wicked  inhabi- 
tants. "What  have  they  done,  there?"  I  asked  Luigi, 
who,  as  usual,  was  the  spokesman  of  the  community's 
sentiments. 

"  Done?  "  he  exclaimed,  his  eyes  flashing  with  indigna- 
tion. *'  The  Signora  may  well  ask!  What  have  they  not 
done !    Last  year  they  made  a  procession  on  Good  Friday 

—  with  a  Pulcinello  nailed  to  the  Cross!  It  is  a  wonder 
they  are  not  all  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea !  " 

I  had  not  heard  of  that  outrage.  Why  is  it  that  the 
Latin  of  the  lower  classes,  when  once  he  abandons  his 
Faith,  loses  all  self-respect  and  becomes  such  a  revolting 
creature  —  a  cross  between  an  obscene  buffoon  and  a  mad 
dog? 

To  turn  from  these  miserable  reflections,  I  am  bound 
to  say  that  our  own  Parish  Priest  did  not  always 
give  such  a  good  account  of  his  flock  as  did  Luigi.  "  The 
sailors  and  fishermen  are  good,"  he  told  me  (some  years 
later,  it  is  true).  "They  need  Heaven's  protection  too 
much  not  to  be  afraid  of  losing  it.     But  the  townspeople, 

—  ah,  they  are  children,  naughty  children,  ready  to  listen 
to  any  fool  who  talks  loud  enough,  and  we  get  plenty 
of  them  here  now,  telling  our  men  that  they  are  behind 
the  times,  that  science  has  proved  there  is  no  God,  and 
that  Religion  is  a  thing  for  women  and  children,  not 
for  grown  men !  The  women,  poor  things,  are  always 
faithful,  but  for  a  long  time  I  could  not  get  a  great  num- 
ber of  the  men  to  Mass.  As  for  going  to  their  duties  — 
they  would  not  hear  of  it!  " 

"  I  kept  saying  to  them,  '  Take  care !     God  is  patient, 

218 


RAVELLO,    CAPRI,    AND   ISCHIA 

but  you  win  tire  Him  out.  Some  dreadful  misfortune 
will  fall  upon  us  all,  and  then  it  will  be  too  late  to  say 
you  are  sorry!  '  Signora  mia,"  the  Parroco's  strong, 
dark  face  grew  very  solemn  now,  "  it  came,  that  misfor- 
tune —  and  only  the  Divine  Mercy  averted  ruin  from 
many,  many  families!  It  was  one  night  in  the  early 
spring  —  the  orange  trees  were  covered  with  buds  — 
and  you  know  that  the  oranges  are  our  most  valuable 
product  —  when,  towards  ten  o'clock  at  night  snow  began 
to  fall, — thick,  cold,  heavy  snow!  Some  of  them  came 
and  roused  me  from  my  sleep,  crying  to  me  to  open  the 
church  that  they  might  pray,  and  ring  the  church  bells 
to  entreat  the  Almighty  to  save  the  crop.  And  who 
do  you  think  were  the  ones  who  sobbed  the  loud- 
est and  rang  the  hardest  —  rang  the  bells  in  that  tower 
for  two  hours,  like  maniacs?  My  free-thinkers,  who 
had  not  been  to  Mass  for  months!  Well,  the  Lord  had 
pity  on  them.  A  little  soft  wind  came  up  and  carried  all 
the  snow  away,  and  when  the  sun  rose  not  a  single  bud  had 
been  frostbitten.  Then  they  came  to  me  all  smiling  and 
happy  and  said,  '  Gnor  Parroco,  we  wish  to  thank  God 
for  his  goodness.  We  will  now  make  a  grand  festa  and 
you  will  sing  a  Te  Deum,  and  we  will  have  the  bands, 
and  fireworks,  and  we  will  pay  for  it  all!'  '  Youf^  I 
said  to  those  foolish  blasphemers,  '  You  will  do  nothing 
of  the  kind!  There  will  be  a  festa  and  a  splendid  one  — 
I  and  those  good  faithful  women  will  make  it — It  is  for 
their  sakes  that  you  have  been  saved  from  ruin  —  and 
I  will  pay  for  everything  out  of  my  own  pocket!  Not  a 
soldo  shall  you  be  allowed  to  contribute.     Be  content  to 

219 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

kneel  at  the  bottom  of  the  church,  and  beat  your  breasts 
and  ask  God  to  pardon  your  great  sin!  '  And  so  it  was, 
Signora  mia.  We  had  the  festa  and  the  Lord's  name 
was  magnified,  and  I  have  very  little  trouble  with  free- 
thinkers now.  The  men  are  like  lambs!  The  fright 
was  most  salutary  for  their  souls." 


220 


X 

OUR   LADY   OF   THE   ROSARY   AT   POMPEII 

The  Study  in  the  Tower  —  A  Marvellous  Night  Scene — "Japan,  the 
Impersonal  "  —  The  Santuario  of  Pompeii  —  A  Pious  Lawyer  and  a  For- 
saken District  —  A  Successful  Mission  —  The  Miraculous  Picture  Found 
behind  a  Door — Its  Humble  Conveyance  to  Pompeii  —  A  Splendid 
Throne  and  a  Heartful  of  Names  —  Thank-offerings  of  Great  Price  — 
Saintly  Collaborators  —  The  Parish  Church  of  the  World  —  Orphan  Girls 
and  Sons  of  Convicts  —  The  Fifteen  Saturdays  —  The  Miracle  of  Don 
Pasquale  Bortone  —  A  True  Love  Story  —  My  Wayfarers  —  A  Visit 
to  the  Santuario. 

LONG  after  the  colour  of  my  life  had  changed,  it 
chanced  that  I  spent  a  winter  alone  at  Villa  Craw- 
ford. My  dear  brother  was  in  New  York,  Bessie  and  the 
children  in  Rome  for  the  season,  and  various  circum- 
stances decided  me  to  stay  at  the  Villa,  although  my 
sister-in-law  protested  violently,  prophesying  that  I  could 
never  bear  the  solitude  of  that  great  house  through  all 
the  winter  days  and  nights,  when  the  sea  gets  angry 
and  flings  itself  against  the  cliff  with  a  force  that  makes 
every  window  rattle  and  seems  calculated  to  hurl  the 
building  itself  from  its  foundations.  However,  I  per- 
sisted, and  was  glad  that  I  had,  for  during  those  four 
months  my  writing  prospered  exceedingly,  and  the  entire 
absence  of  distractions  gave  me  time  to  think  over  many 
things,  and  to  store  up  a  few  more  memorable  impressions 
which  I  would  not  now  be  without. 

221 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

My  workroom  by  day  was  Marlon's  study  in  the  tower, 
and,  sitting  there  from  morn  till  dark,  I  was  able  to 
absorb  something  of  the  atmosphere  that  he  had  created 
for  himself  in  that  high  eyrie,  where  the  sounds  from  the 
lower  world  came  in  whispers,  as  it  were,  and  one  felt 
nearer  the  sky  than  the  earth.  He  loved  high  and  lonely 
places.  I  remember  that  once  I  was  remarking  on  some 
of  the  almost  inaccessible  spots  which  had  been  chosen 
for  monasteries,  places  where  it  might  be  said  "  Qui 
convien  ch'  uom'  voli !  "  And  he  replied,  "  From  the 
earliest  times  those  who  desired  to  rise  above  the  weak- 
nesses of  human  nature,  to  see  all  things  as  they  are, 
have  chosen  the  heights  for  their  dwellings.  Remember 
Elijah  and  the  school  of  the  prophets  on  Mount 
Carmel !  The  mere  fact  of  breathing  the  higher  air,  of 
getting  as  far  as  possible  above  the  common  level,  gives 
such  strength  to  the  will  and  clearness  to  the  mind  that, 
in  some  eastern  countries,  the  law  forbids  any  man  to 
dwell  higher  than  a  certain  point,  because  experience  has 
shown  that  by  so  doing  he  may  acquire  too  great  a  power 
over  his  fellow-countrymen." 

There  was  a  wonderful  sense  of  peace  and  freedom  in 
that  great  upper  room,  with  Its  many  windows  and  its  wide 
door  leading  to  the  terrace,  which  was  In  reality  the  roof 
of  the  house.  From  there  one's  glance  could  sweep  the 
view  on  every  side  and  then  let  it  plunge  down  hundreds 
of  feet  to  the  sea,  lapping  —  or  hurling  itself  —  against 
the  rocks. 

Within  all  was  simple  in  the  extreme,  nothing  was  there 
to  distract  the  thoughts  from  the  sacred  claims  of  work. 

222 


OUR    LADY    OF    THE    ROSARY 

In  the  centre  of  the  room  stood  a  huge,  many-drawered 
writing  table,  with  a  raised  screen  of  shelves  on  its  far 
side  to  make  a  home  for  some  half  dozen  precious  Diirer 
etchings,  the  only  things  Marion  ever  cared  to  collect. 
In  one  angle  a  bed  of  the  same  dark  wood,  covered  with 
Persian  rugs,  and  beside  it,  on  a  little  table,  a  big  wooden 
candlestick  (own  brother  to  those  on  the  Altar  in  the 
Franciscan  Church  below)  supporting  a  section  of  a  ten- 
pound  wax  candle,  a  thing  some  inches  in  diameter,  which 
Marion  declared  gave  the  pleasantest  light  for  reading  in 
bed.  Apart  from  the  Diirers  there  were  scarcely  any 
pictures  in  the  room ;  the  walls  were  merely  plastered, 
and  for  pictures  one  had  to  look  out  of  the  windows. 
But  there  was  a  grand  open  fireplace  where  the  olive  wood 
blazed  merrily  on  winter  days,  and  a  couple  of  deep  arm- 
chairs—  suggestive  of  dear  companionship  and  long, 
happy  talks. 

It  was  the  memorable  winter  of  1 899-1900  that  I  spent 
alone  at  the  Villa,  consumed  with  anxiety  about  my  boy 
out  in  South  Africa,  and  I  believe  Marion's  rooms  and 
Marion's  ways  of  thought  carried  me  through  it  as  nothing 
else  could  have  done.  During  those  four  months  I  only 
once  spoke  English  —  when  beautiful  Mary  Stanley  (nee 
Rose)  suddenly  turned  up  for  a  day  and  wanted  to  see 
the  Villa,  a  most  pleasant  interruption  to  the  rather  mur- 
derous continuity  of  my  work.  The  only  way  not  to  think 
was  to  fill  every  hour,  and  to  make  the  nights  very  short 
—  or  one  might  not  have  slept.  So  I  worked  all  day 
in  the  tower  room,  came  down  at  seven  in  the  evening 
to  my  solitary  dinner,  began  writing  again  at  nine  and 

223 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

wrote  till  two  A.  M. ;  long,  long  hours  of  composition, 
only  possible  in  that  perfect  silence  and  seclusion.  The 
"  Little  Grey  Sheep  "  was  occupying  me  till  the  end  of 
January,  and  then  my  publishers  asked  for  a  shorter 
book  to  bring  out  first,  and  I  took  a  plunge  into  Japan 
and  wrote  "  Marna's  Mutiny  "  in  just  five  weeks.  The 
downstairs  study  was  part  of  a  charming  little  apartment 
which  Marion  had  arranged  for  my  mother,  so  that  she 
should  not  have  to  climb  any  stairs  to  her  bedroom;  his 
thoughtfulness  in  such  ways  was  one  of  his  most  endear- 
ing characteristics.  The  first  time  I  went  to  visit  him 
after  his  marriage  I  had  been  very  lame  for  a  long  time, 
and  he  had  actually  had  the  three  steps  leading  up  to  the 
front  door  built  over  into  a  gentle  slope  so  that  I  could 
walk  up  them  without  trouble !  My  mother  was  there 
at  the  same  time,  so,  in  order  that  I  too  might  have  a 
bedroom  on  the  ground  floor,  he  had  given  up  the  library 
and  turned  it  into  a  sumptuous  sleeping  apartment  for 
me.  One  more  little  thing  he  thought  of,  an  absurd  trifle, 
but  it  meant  so  much  that  he  should  have  remembered  it 
through  years  of  separation.  "  Mimo  must  have  straw- 
berry jam  for  breakfast!  "  he  had  told  my  sister-in-law. 
Now  strawberry  jam  is  an  article  unknown  to  Italian 
traders,  and  has  to  be  brought  from  England,  but  there 
it  was  when  my  breakfast  tray  appeared  in  the  morning. 
As  one  of  the  old  servants  exclaimed  to  me  in  a  moment 
of  enthusiasm,  "  Chisto  Signo!  Nn'artro  como  lui  no' 
c'e  n'e  en  chisto  mundo."  ("  This  gentleman!  There  is 
not  another  like  him  in  this  world!  ") 

The  many  who  loved  him  will  forgive  me  I  know,  for 

224 


OUR    LADY    OF   THE    ROSARY 

lingering  over  these  memories.  If  Marion  entered  into 
any  one's  life  at  all  he  became  a  dominant  figure  in  it 
for  ever.  Since  he  left  us  I  have  had  letters  from  friends 
of  his  whose  names  I  had  not  known  before,  two  of  them 
holy  and  distinguished  Priests,  who  have  told  me  that  his 
memory  was  with  them  daily  and  hourly  and  that  they 
counted  the  hours  spent  with  him  as  among  the  most 
precious  of  their  lives. 

Before  passing  on  to  other  things  I  must  describe  some- 
thing I  saw  from  his  terrace  on  the  roof  —  a  scene  which 
doubtless  he  had  more  than  once  rejoiced  in.  One  night 
I  had,  as  usual,  been  writing  downstairs,  unconscious  of 
the  outside  world.  My  fire  and  my  lamp  were  burn- 
ing brightly,  my  table  was  covered  with  books  and  papers, 
and  all  was  familiar  and  inviting,  when,  towards  two 
o'clock,  I  discovered  that  I  had  left  in  the  tower  some 
Important  notes  without  which  I  could  go  no  farther. 
It  required  some  nerve  to  go  up  past  all  those  uninhab- 
ited floors  and  then  climb  the  dark,  winding  staircase  in 
the  dead  of  night.  Luigi  had  gone  home  to  his  own 
house.  Giovanni  the  cook  slept  far  below  in  the  ser- 
vants' quarters  hewn  out  of  the  face  of  the  cliff,  and 
there  was  no  question  of  sending  for  what  I  wanted. 
There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  go  myself.  The  dead 
emptiness  and  darkness  of  the  great  house  got  on  my 
nerves  long  before  I  reached  the  entrance  to  the  tower 
staircase  on  the  third  floor.  My  one  candle  cast  very 
black  shadows,  and  I  was  not  at  all  sure  that  I  was 
alone  —  the  place  was  full  of  ghostly  whisperings.  The 
tower  stair  was  a  close  spiral  where  one  could  see  only 

225 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

two  or  three  steps  at  a  time  and  never  had  it  seemed 
so  long  or  so  dark  as  that  night.  But  as  I  turned  the 
last  spiral  and  came  out  on  the  top  landing,  I  was  met 
by  a  burst  of  glory  that  made  me  stagger  back  against 
the  wall  as  if  I  had  been  struck. 

An  enormous  full  moon  hung  right  overhead  in  a  sky 
whipped  white  by  a  furious  gale.  From  where  I  stood, 
to  the  far  horizon,  the  sea  was  one  sheet  of  mad,  froth- 
ing, tossing  silver,  of  such  intolerable  brightness  that  it 
made  the  eyes  ache  to  look  at  it;  and  that  whole  seeth- 
ing radiance  was  flinging  itself  against  the  cliffs  in  a 
thunder  of  assault  that  sent  the  spray  flying  up  to  the 
level  of  the  house.  How  long  I  stood  there,  clinging 
to  the  parapet,  I  never  knew.  I  had  "  surprised  the  ele- 
ments at  play,"  and  the  thrill  of  that  hour  can  never  be 
forgotten. 

In  my  two  real  homes,  Japan  and  South  Italy,  beauty 
lives.  It  is  not  merely  an  exquisite  scene  that  you  behold, 
it  is  sight  and  revelation  at  the  same  time.  Nature 
speaks  some  word  at  certain  moments  —  it  is  for  you 
alone,  you  cannot  translate  it  any  more  than  you  can  put 
a  chord  into  speech;  but  it  is  clear,  imperative,  divine. 
Once,  in  Japan,  after  a  period  of  great  stress  and  pre- 
occupation, I  had  been  sitting  up  all  night  to  finish  a  cer- 
tain task.  I  was  worn  out;  the  coming  day  was  pro- 
grammed into  a  perfect  chess-board  of  engagements, 
public  and  private;  and  for  a  minute  I  felt  as  if  sudden 
death  would  be  a  happy  release  from  the  unbearable  re- 
sponsibilities of  life.  The  dawn  made  its  way  into  the 
room  —  I  opened  a  window  and  looked  out.     Already 

226 


OUR    LADY    OF    THE    ROSARY 

the  world  was  white  with  morning  and  moist  with  dew. 
Just  under  my  window,  reaching  up  to  show  me  its  face, 
one  great  white  hly  had  opened  in  the  night;  the  sun 
had  never  seen  it  yet;  its  whiteness  was  the  blue  white- 
ness of  snow  in  the  shade;  but  from  the  immaculate 
heart  of  it  the  golden  arrow  heads  had  burst  their  bonds 
and  trembled  with  their  load  of  pregnant  balm,  whose 
perfume  flooded  up  and  kissed  my  eyes  to  just  the  few 
happy  tears  needed  to  wash  away  fatigue  and  despond- 
ency, and  leave  sight  clear,  courage  high,  to  meet  the 
coming  hours. 

That  was  Japan,  the  impersonal;  one  flower,  one 
moment,  and  you  are  "  freed  from  the  wheel  "  of  self. 

In  South  Italy,  the  storied,  teeming  spendthrift  of 
beauty,  impressions  come  differently.  You  are  not  taken 
out  of  yourself;  on  the  contrary,  intelligence  and  memory 
and  imagination  are  roused  at  every  step.  There  is  a 
story  for  every  landmark;  here  a  saint  was  born,  here  a 
martyr  died;  here,  where  the  reeds  sway  softly  on  the 
lake,  or  there,  where  the  thyme  grows  thick  in  the  lonely 
dell,  the  battle  cries  of  nations  rose  to  heaven  and  all 
the  blare  of  trumpets  could  not  drown  the  shrieks  of  the 
dying.  "  Remember,  remember,"  the  wind  sings  in  your 
ear;  "tout  passe,  tout  casse,  tout  lassef"  is  the  burden 
of  its  song,  and  It  takes  faith  to  add  Saint  Teresa's 
sequel  to  the  axiom  —  "  Dieu  seul  ne  passe  point." 

No,  He  passeth  not  away,  and  one  feels  that  this  soil, 
the  first  to  see  the  light,  the  oldest  of  His  gardens,  is 
specially  dear  to  Him  for  the  sake  of  the  crowding  mil- 
lions of  His  children,  saints  and  sinners,  victors  and  van- 

227 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

quished,  seers  and  slaves,  all  made  in  His  image,  who 
have  lived  and  struggled,  and  laughed  and  wept,  and  now 
sleep  safe  in  Italian  earth  till  the  Judgment  Day.  And 
from  their  ashes  what  trophies  have  not  arisen  of  His 
glory  and  mercy?  What  marvels  have  not  been  worked 
even  in  our  own  days  to  vindicate  that  Divine  predilec- 
tion? From  one  spot  alone,  the  ancient  charnel- 
house  of  sinful  flesh,  has  emanated  a  tide  of  sublime 
supernatural  graces  that  have  brought  healing  of  soul 
and  body  to  countless  thousands,  not  only  at  the  fountain 
head  but  in  the  farthest  corners  of  the  earth.  Who  "  of 
us  "  has  not  heard  of  that  gate  of  Heaven,  the  "  Sanctu- 
ary of  Pompeii,"  the  Throne  of  Our  Lady  of  the 
Rosary?  Very  few,  indeed;  but  since  so  many  of  those 
who  are  not  "  of  us,"  yet  not  against  us,  will  read  this 
book,  I  must  try  to  tell  at  least  a  part  of  the  story  — 
which  might  be  called  a  story  of  resurrection,  but,  more 
fitly,  I  think,  a  story  of  renascence,  of  a  garden  bloom- 
ing from  a  grave. 

The  predestined  human  instrument  of  this  transfor- 
mation was  a  devout  poor  gentleman  of  Naples,  the 
Avvocato  Bartolo  Longo,  a  member  of  the  Third  Order  of 
St.  Dominic.  Broken  in  health  and  with  very  straitened 
means,  he  left  the  city  in  the  month  of  October,  1872,  and 
went  for  a  few  weeks  to  seek  change  of  air  in  the  "  Valle 
di  Pompeii,"  a  desolate  but  quiet  bit  of  country  lying  at 
the  foot  of  Vesuvius,  between  the  railway  station  of 
Pompeii,  and  that  of  Scafati,  a  small  town  seventeen 
miles  further  on  the  line  towards  Nocera  dei  Pagani  and 
Salerno.    For  many  years  the  district  had  been  the  resort 

228 


OUR    LADY    OF    THE    ROSARY 

of  all  the  thieves  and  outlaws  of  the  surrounding  country 
and  bore  a  very  evil  reputation.  After  i860  it  was  the 
favourite  hunting  ground  of  the  famous  brigand,  Pilone, 
and,  even  after  he  was  killed,  the  remains  of  his  band  of 
braves  roamed  and  robbed  so  audaciously  that  only  the 
poorest,  the  contadini  who  had  nothing  to  lose  and  for 
whom  no  one  could  have  paid  the  smallest  ransom,  ven- 
tured to  dwell  there. 

Of  these  some  three  thousand  were  scattered  through 
the  "  Valle,"  which  at  that  point  widens  almost  to  a 
plain,  dividing  Vesuvius  and  its  foot-hills  from  the  high, 
rocky  range  that  rises  between  the  Bay  of  Naples  and  the 
Gulf  of  Salerno.  The  good  lawyer  was  distressed  beyond 
measure  to  find  that  the  larger  part  of  these  poor  people 
were  existing  in  a  state  of  pitiable  ignorance  as  to  the 
very  essentials  of  religion;  many  of  them  did  not  know 
how  to  make  the  sign  of  the  cross.  For  so  many  souls 
there  was  but  one  half-ruined  little  church  barely  large 
enough  to  hold  a  hundred  persons.  The  Bishop  of  Nola 
had  been  mourning  over  this  unhappy  portion  of  his 
diocese,  and  had  for  many  years  tried  to  raise  funds  to 
build  a  suitable  church,  but,  weighed  down  with  the  care 
of  seven  hundred  churches,  including  eighty-five  parishes, 
most  of  which  were  wretchedly  poor,  he  had  never  been 
enabled  to  carry  out  his  desires  and  had  to  content  him- 
self with  commending  them  to  the  generosity  of  Heaven. 

Heaven  replied  by  sending  the  good  Avvocato,  who, 
as  he  says,  "  after  mature  reflection,  much  prayer,  and 
counsel  sought  from  wise  and  holy  men,"  decided  that 
the  best  method  of  Christianising  the  poor  folk  of  the 

229 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

"  Valle,"  and  at  the  same  time  obtaining  all  that  they 
needed  from  the  Divine  Clemency,  was  to  teach  them  to 
say  the  Rosary,  that  epitome  of  the  life  of  Christ,  the 
weapon  which,  since  the  days  of  St,  Dominic  has  won  so 
many  victories  for  Christian  arms  by  land  and  sea,  and  has 
saved  countless  millions  frorn  sin  and  degradation  and 
despair.  So  the  Avvocato  spent  his  hardly  earned  holi- 
day every  autumn  in  going  round  among  the  contadini  ? 
and  instructing  them  in  the  truths  of  Religion;  every 
evening,  when  their  day's  work  was  over,  he  gathered 
together  as  many  as  possible,  and  the  Rosary  was  said, 
at  first  in  the  dilapidated  chapel,  and  then,  as  the  con- 
gregation outgrew  that  narrow  space,  in  the  house  of  the 
Contessa  de  Fusco,  a  noble  and  pious  lady  of  Naples 
who  owned  a  small  villa  in  the  vicinity.  A  small  print 
of  Our  Lady  of  the  Rosary,  surrounded  by  the  fifteen 
Mysteries,  which  the  Avvocato  carried  about  with  him 
and  had  hung  over  his  bed,  was  the  only  object  of 
devotion  round  which  the  poor  people  could  gather.  I 
wonder  where  it  is  to-day?  One  would  give  much  to 
possess  that  precious  little  foundation  stone  of  the  world- 
renowned,  world-loved  basilica  which  draws  one  hundred 
thousand  pilgrims  every  year  from  every  quarter  of  the 
globe ! 

In  1875,  with  the  help  and  encouragement  of  the 
Bishop,  a  Mission  was  held  in  the  "  Valle,"  and  the  good 
Priests  who  conducted  it  had  the  joy  of  seeing  the  inhab- 
itants crowd  to  hear,  to  learn,  to  pray.  The  rain  of 
miraculous  graces  in  store  for  the  spot  began  by  the 
heartiness   and   sincerity   of  the   conversions.     Enemies 

230 


OUR   LADY    OF   THE    ROSARY 

were  reconciled,  hardened  sinners  repented,  parents 
brought  their  children  to  be  baptised;  very  few  had  not 
approached  the  sacraments  before  the  Mission  closed. 
Then  the  "  Confraternity  of  the  Rosary  "  was  established, 
each  member  promising  to  be  faithful  in  reciting 
the  prayers,  and,  those  ivho  could,  subscribing  one 
soldo  (a  halfpenny)  a  month  towards  the  erection  of  a 
church. 

The  founder  of  the  work  at  first  dreamed  of  nothing 
more  than  a  chapel  with  an  Altar  dedicated  to  Our  Lady  of 
the  Rosary;  but  the  Bishop  insisted  that  what  was  needed 
—  and  would  therefore  be  possible  —  was  the  building 
of  a  real  church,  such  as  he  had  for  so  many  years  de- 
sired to  see  in  the  Valle.  His  ardent  faith  and  the  justice 
of  his  reasoning  convinced  his  hearers,  and  with  many 
prayers,  the  work  of  raising  the  funds  began,  in  January, 
1876,  by  the  aforesaid  high  subscription  of  one  cent  a 
month,  Don  Bartolo  Longo  and  the  Contessa  de  Fusco 
undertaking  the  arduous  task  of  collecting. 

As  the  good  Avvocato  (afterwards  "  Commendatore  ") 
says  in  his  account,  "  both  Heaven  and  earth  took  the 
matter  in  hand."  On  the  30th  of  April  of  the  same  year 
the  site  was  bought  and  paid  for;  the  foundation  stone  was 
laid  on  the  8th  of  May,  in  the  presence  of  an  enormous 
gathering  including  three  hundred  Neapolitan  gentlemen 
and  ladies,  many  of  whom  came  to  thank  Our  Lady  for  ex- 
traordinary graces  received  through  her  intercession.  On 
the  29th  of  October,  1876,  the  foundations  were  finished, 
and  on  the  13th  of  October,  1878,  the  building  was  com- 
pleted up  to  the  cornice  —  a  building  capable  of  containing 

231 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

two  thousand  persons.  Considering  the  poverty  of  the  dio- 
cese and  the  thoroughness  with  which  every  detail  was 
treated,  the  accomplishment  of  that  much  in  so  short  a 
time  was  surprising. 

At  this  point  Mass  was  celebrated  in  the  still 
roofless  church,  filled  to  overflowing  with  worshippers 
from  Naples  and  all  the  surrounding  country.  Kneel- 
ing on  the  unfinished  floor,  princes  and  princesses 
shoulder  to  shoulder  with  the  poorest  labourers,  the 
devout  assembly  recited  the  Rosary  in  common  and  great 
numbers  received  Holy  Communion  at  the  foot  of  the 
poor  little  altar  which  had  served  for  the  first  prayer 
gatherings  of  the  scattered  contadini.  But  above  the 
altar  was  the  picture  —  now  reproduced  by  the  million, 
throned  in  thousands  of  churches  and  venerated  in  almost 
every  Catholic  home  —  the  picture  of  Our  Lady  of  the 
Rosary  with  the  Divine  Infant  on  her  knee  and  the 
Rosary's  two  first  Saints,  St.  Dominic  and  St.  Catherine 
of  Siena,  kneeling  at  her  feet. 

The  story  of  that  picture  is  a  very  strange  one.  Before 
the  inauguration  of  the  Confraternity  of  the  Rosary  of 
Our  Lady  of  Pompeii  (to  give  the  Association  its  full 
name)  Signor  Longo,  who  still  maintained  among  the 
people  of  the  "  Valle  "  the  custom  of  reciting  the  chaplet 
in  common  every  evening,  thought  it  was  time  to  find  an 
oil  painting  to  replace  the  tiny  print  which  till  then  had 
been  the  only  centre  of  devotion  upon  which  to  focus  the 
poor  people's  eyes  and  attention.  It  was  impossible  to 
buy  or  order  a  suitable  painting  —  there  would  have 
been  no  money  to  pay  for  it.    So  he  began  to  search  round 

232 


OUR   LADY    OF   THE    ROSARY 

in  Naples,  in  junk  shops  as  well  as  among  his  acquaint- 
ances, for  something  that  could  be  made  to  serve  his 
purpose. 

At  last  his  own  director,  a  venerable  Father  of  the 
Order  of  the  Preachers,  offered  him,  with  many  apol- 
ogies, an  old  daub  which  he  had  bought  many  years  before 
for  three  francs  and  forty  centimes  (sixty-eight  cents) 
and  which  was  reposing  in  the  dust  behind  a  door.  Signor 
Longo  accepted  the  discarded  thing  with  humble  gratitude 
and  undertook  to  transport  it  to  Pompeii.  But,  to  his 
disappointment,  he  was  not  allowed  to  put  it  into  a 
railway  carriage  and  finally,  in  despair,  had  to  confide  it  to 
a  "  carrettiere  "  who  made  his  living  by  carting  litter  from 
the  stables  of  the  city  to  the  maize  fields  of  the  Valle. 
Horribly  it  went  against  the  devout  lawyer's  heart  to 
permit  the  sacred  picture  to  travel  in  company  with  such  a 
load,  but,  since  the  Blessed  Virgin  refused  to  provide  any 
better  vehicle  for  her  portrait,  there  was  no  other  way. 
Carefully  tied  up  in  a  sheet,  the  old  canvas  was  hoisted 
on  the  cart — and  in  this  triumphant  manner  did  the 
"  prodigiosa  immagine  "  reach  Pompeii! 

Signor  Longo  was  there  to  receive  it,  but  his  heart 
sank  when  he  undid  the  wrappings  and  looked  at  it  at- 
tentively. As  he  says,  himself,  it  was  "  really  horrid  to 
behold."  But  there  was  an  artist  who  was  working  just 
then  in  Pompeii,  by  name  Galella,  and  he  gladly  undertook 
to  restore  the  painting  as  far  as  he  could.  When  this  was 
done,  Signor  Longo  placed  it  over  the  Altar  of  the 
tumble-down  chapel  which  was  still  the  only  church  the 
district  possessed,  and,  to  use  his  own  words,  "  from  that 

^Z2> 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

day  begins  the  history  of  the  prodigies  worked  by  the 
Almighty  to  rekindle  the  faith  of  Christians  and  fire 
them  with  zeal  for  the  edification  of  the  new  Temple  of 
the  Rosary  at  Pompeii." 

The  work  went  forward  rapidly  and  successfully;  in 
a  very  few  years  the  church  was  ready  for  all  practical 
uses,  one  by  one  the  chapels  were  finished,  and  enriched 
with  beautiful  altar  pieces  painted  by  distinguished 
artists.  The  great  golden  cupola  rose  in  the  sunny  air, 
a  beacon  for  many  a  long  mile  around,  and,  when  I  had 
the  happiness  of  seeing  it,  the  facade  was  almost  com- 
pleted. But  long  before  that,  almost  as  soon  as  the  roof 
was  on,  offerings  came  pouring  in  especially  designed  for 
the  throne  above  the  high  altar,  which  supports  the 
—  to  many  of  us  —  most  beautiful  picture  in  the  world, 
the  old  picture  bought  for  sixty-eight  cents  and  conveyed 
to  Pompeii  on  a  load  of  stable  refuse!  No  sooner  had 
Signor  Longo  signified  his  desire  to  atone  to  Our  Lady 
for  this  humiliation  by  building  a  worthy  shrine  for  her 
likeness,  than  the  tide  of  gifts  began  to  flow  in,  amounting 
In  the  course  of  two  years  to  one  hundred  and  sixty 
thousand  francs.  More  followed,  and  the  "  Trono,"  as 
it  stands,  cost  over  two  hundred  thousand  francs.  The 
gleaming,  delicately  chiselled  marbles  came  from  Lourdes, 
Our  Lady's  Pyrenean  home,  where,  thirty-seven  years 
earlier,  she  had  appeared  to  Bernadette  and  touched  the 
rock  to  pour  out  the  inexhaustible  fountains  of  healing 
for  the  souls  and  bodies  of  men.  Beneath  the  throne, 
enclosed  in  a  great  silver  heart,  are  one  hundred  and 
sixty  thousand  names,  those  of  the  faithful  who  sent  the 

234 


OUR   LADY    OF   THE    ROSARY 

offerings  for  it;  five  angels  in  bronze  form  the  guard  of 
honour,  just  within  the  chancel  railings,  life-sized  statues, 
all  different,  one  more  lovely  than  the  other  in  the  ex- 
pression of  love  for  God  and  tender  pity  and  encourage- 
ment for  man. 

The  picture  itself  is  a  centre  of  light.  Its  artistic  merits 
or  demerits  count  for  nothing  in  the  impression  it  makes. 
Simple  in  line  and  composition  as  any  pre-raphaelite 
work,  what  is  presented  to  the  eye  seems  quite  subordinate 
to  that  which  it  says  to  the  heart.  The  Blessed  Mother 
sits  on  a  raised  seat  of  which  only  the  rounded  pedestal 
is  visible,  the  Divine  Infant  on  her  knee  turns  to  the 
right  in  the  act  of  dropping  a  rosary  into  the  hand  of 
St.  Dominic,  who  kneels  below,  eagerly  reaching  up  to 
receive  it.  There  is  a  charming  baby  grace  and  "  aban- 
don "  in  the  pose,  as  the  Child  reaches  across  the  enfold- 
ing mother-arm  and  holds  the  long  chain  of  beads  high 
above  the  head  of  the  praying  Saint  on  whom  he  smiles 
joyfully.  The  Blessed  Mother's  head  is  turned  from  them 
to  St.  Catherine  who  kneels  on  her  left  side.  With 
ineffable  tenderness  she  reaches  down  to  place  the  rosary 
in  the  outstretched  hand,  while  St.  Catherine  draws  back 
as  in  awe  of  the  face  on  which  her  gaze  is  rapturously 
fixed.  It  is  the  gift  of  Mother  to  daughter;  of  her  who 
suffered  and  triumphed,  to  one  of  her  children  who  must 
still  suffer  unspeakably  ere  the  final  victory  is  won.  The 
Italians  call  this  miraculous  picture  "  the  Madonna  with 
the  tender  eyes,"  and  indeed  no  words  can  describe  the 
celestial  love  and  mercy  of  that  downward  glance,  fol- 
lowing the  movement  of  the  giving  hand,  so  pure,  yet 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

strong,  that  it  reminds  one  irresistibly  of  Ratisbon's  cry 
after  his  vision  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  in  Sant'  Andrea 
delle  Fratte  in  Rome:  "Oh,  les  mains  de  la  Sainte 
Vierge !  II  f  aut  les  avoir  vues  pour  la  comprendre !  Ses 
mains  rayonnent  les  graces !  " 

On  the  day  when,  the  High  Altar  being  completed  and 
consecrated,  the  picture  was  removed  from  the  ruined 
chapel  to  be  installed  in  its  place  of  honour,  the  pro- 
cession paused  in  the  Piazza  of  "  New  Pompeii,"  the 
thriving  little  township  which  grew  up  with  the  building 
of  the  church,  and  the  Grand  Penitentiary,  Cardinal 
Monaco  della  Valletta,  crowned  it  with  a  magnificent 
diadem  composed  of  seven  hundred  diamonds  of  purest 
water,  each  diamond  a  thank-offering,  for  some  miracu- 
lous grace  received.  Four  emeralds  were  set  among 
the  diamonds  —  and  these  were  presented  by  two 
Jews. 

Later,  another,  and,  to  my  mind,  a  more  beautiful  crown 
was  added,  a  ring  of  twelve  great  diamond  stars,  glorious 
as  those  which  St.  John  counted  in  the  Mother's  crown 
when  God  showed  her  glory  to  him  in  Patmos.  These 
hang,  as  it  were,  in  a  wide  circle  behind  her,  a  wheel  of 
light  —  yet,  in  looking  at  the  picture.  Her  face  and  that  of 
the  Child  seem  to  hold  more  light  still.  No  gems  can 
make  that  radiance  pale.  The  devout  artistic  feeling 
which  has  governed  the  whole  work  at  Pompeii  has  placed 
the  first  crown  of  diamonds  so  far  above  Our  Lady's 
head  that  it  floats  free  of  the  halo,  marked  by  a  single 
star,  that  surrounds  the  meek  brow  and  soft,  uncovered 
hair.     Now,  every  detail  of  the  crimson  robe  and  blue 

236 


OUR    LADY    OF    THE    ROSARY 

mantle  is  outlined  and  fretted  with  diamonds,  and  it  is  in 
diamonds  that  the  inscription  "  Ave  Maria  "  has  been 
written  on  the  pedestal. 

I  can  see  the  scoffing  smile  with  which  the  protestant 
and  the  materialist,  the  agnostic  and  the  atheist  will  read 
this  description.  I  can  hear  the  Judas  growl,  "  Why  was 
this  not  sold  and  given  to  the  poor?"  Wait,  dear  be- 
nighted ones,  read  to  the  end  and  then  sneer  —  if  you 
dare. 

Meanwhile  let  me  go  on  with  my  story.  To  make  it 
as  short  as  possible  I  will  say  that  in  less  than  nineteen 
years  from  the  inception  of  the  work  more  than  two  and 
a  half  million  persons  became  members  of  the  "  Spiritual 
Confraternity  of  the  Rosary,"  which  now  encircles  the 
world  by  latitude  and  longitude  in  one  uninterrupted  chain 
of  prayer,  rising  through  every  moment  of  the  night  and 
day  to  Heaven.  The  gifts  and  subscriptions  have  never 
ceased  to  pour  in,  and  the  votive  offerings  have  long  out- 
grown the  capacity  of  the  great  church  and  fill  room  after 
room  of  the  adjacent  building.  Some  are  magnificent, 
some  touchingly  humble ;  all  have  the  same  value  in  God's 
eyes,  since  each,  like  every  diamond  in  Mary's  crowns, 
is  a  thank-offering  for  some  special  grace  received  in 
answer  to  faithful  prayer.  The  poor  peasant  who  brings 
his  daub  of  a  picture  by  the  town  sign-painter,  represent- 
ing his  deliverance  from  falling  rock  or  maddened  bull, 
the  aforetime  cripple  who  strides  in  and  hangs  his  worn 
crutches  on  the  wall,  the  mother  whose  child  fell  over 
some  precipice  unhurt  —  they  look  with  glowing  pride  at 
the  priceless  gems  which  show  that  the  rich  too  have 

237 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

found  grace  with  their  Blessed  Madonna ;  and  the  million- 
aire bows  his  head  before  the  tiny  tributes  of  the  poor, 
infinitely  precious  because  they  gave  "  what  they  could  " 
out  of  the  fullness  of  grateful  hearts. 

But  the  material  riches  of  the  "  Santuario  "  pale  in 
comparison  with  the  splendours  of  charity  which  have 
grown  up  around  it,  vitalised,  nourished,  perpetuated 
by  its  invisible  fires  of  love  and  pity.  All  these  undertak- 
ings were  organised  and  carried  out  by  two  lay  persons, 
Signor  Longo  and  the  Contessa  de  Fusco,  his  faithful 
collaborator,  who,  after  the  first  few  years  of  their  joint 
labours,  became  his  wife  —  chiefly,  it  is  said,  to  avoid 
the  slightest  appearance  of  scandal  In  the  constant  com- 
panionship necessary  in  such  work.  On  them  our  Holy 
Father,  Leo  XIII,  bestowed  words  of  blessing  and  com- 
mendation which  have  rarely  fallen  to  the  lot  of  private 
secular  individuals. 

It  was  on  the  occasion  of  the  Pope's  jubilee,  when 
Catholic  Christendom  was  outdoing  itself  in  tributes 
of  love  and  loyalty  to  the  Vicar  of  Christ,  that 
Signor  Longo  and  his  spouse  made  a  gift  to  the  Holy 
See,  of  the  "  Santuario  "  and  its  treasures,  of  the  build- 
ings and  the  land,  the  schools  and  the  asylums  and  the 
workshops  —  all  that  makes  up  the  "  Nuova  Pompeii," 
the  holy  city  which  has  sprung  from  the  ruins  and  ashes 
of  the  old.  Whereupon  the  Holy  Father,  separating  its 
jurisdiction  from  the  diocese  of  Nola,  took  it  as  his  own 
especial  parochial  charge,  naming  the  then  Dean  of  the 
College  of  Cardinals  as  his  vicar  there.  At  the  same  time 
he  appointed  Signor  Longo  and  his  wife  sole  administra- 

238 


OUR    LADY    OF    THE    ROSARY 

tors  of  all  the  revenues  and  works  during  their  lifetime, 
since,  as  he  declares  in  the  Apostolic  Brief  of  March 
13,  1894,  "  they  have  for  many  years  laboured  so  well  for 
the  glory  of  God  and  His  Mother  as  to  merit  the  com- 
plete trust  of  the  entire  Catholic  world." 

A  litde  later  the  Holy  Father  added  to  the  wealth  of 
privileges,  and  honours  already  bestowed  on  the  "  Santu- 
ario  "  the  crowning  one  of  naming  it  the  Parish  Church  of 
the  world.  Every  Catholic  is  bound,  if  by  any  means  he 
can,  to  make  his  Easter  Communion  in  his  own  Parish 
Church;  but  by  this  enactment  it  has  been  made  lawful, 
for  all  who  so  desire,  to  travel  to  Pompeii  and  perform 
their  Easter  duties  there. 

The  love  of  God  cannot  exist  without  showing  itself 
in  love  for  His  children.  As  I  said  before,  the  growing 
basilica,  like  a  generous  plant,  threw  out  shoots  on  either 
side  as  it  rose.  The  first  of  these  was  an  orphan  asylum 
for  little  girls,  homeless  children  gathered  from  every  part 
of  Italy.  The  first  number  taken  in  happened  to  be  one  hun- 
dred and  thirty-five;  these  were  divided  into  nine  bands  of 
fifteen,  who,  from  dawn  to  dark  succeed  each  other  in  the 
repetition  of  the  fifteen  Mysteries  of  the  Rosary,  and  all 
these  prayers  are  offered  for  the  benefactors.  Who  would 
not  wish  to  earn  a  share  in  them?  I  believe  the  number 
of  orphans  now  is  about  three  hundred,  and  these  children 
are  admirably  taught  and  cared  for  till  they  can  safely 
earn  their  living  by  some  one  of  the  many  trades  learnt 
in  the  Home.  All  the  teachers,  nurses,  and  attendants  of 
the  girls'  Home  are  volunteers  —  women  who,  without 
any  religious  vows,  and  without  pay,  dedicate  their  lives 

239 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

to  this  noble  work.  They  are  called  "  The  Daughters 
of  the  Rosary." 

That  which  is  done  for  boys  is  still  more  beau- 
tiful, for  among  all  the  public  and  private  charities 
of  Italy  (and  of  the  world,  as  far  as  I  know)  it  stands 
alone  in  providing  for  and  sheltering  exclusively  the  sons 
of  convicts  who  are  working  out  their  sentences  in  prison. 
These  forsaken  children,  thrown  on  the  world  with  the 
unmerited  stigma  of  disgrace  and  crime,  had  long  ap- 
pealed to  Signor  Longo's  heart,  and  at  the  first  possible 
moment  he  inaugurated  a  home  for  great  numbers  of 
them  under  the  protection  of  the  All-Mother  who  reigns 
supreme  at  the  New  Pompeii. 

There  is  such  exquisite  delicacy  in  true  charity!  The 
first  thought  in  the  founder's  mind  was  to  save  for  God 
these  poor  little  derelicts,  overlooked  waifs,  robbed  of 
their  bread-winner  and  in  most  cases  finding  the  path  of 
crime  the  only  one  open  for  their  first  steps  in  life.  But 
with  that  thought  came  another  —  it  was  impossible  to 
place  these  boys  in  ordinary  institutions,  for  two  reasons 
—  reputable  parents  would  not  allow  their  children  to 
consort  with  the  sons  of  criminals,  and  the  natural  hard- 
heartedness  of  childhood  would  constantly  cause  their 
misfortune  to  be  thrown  in  their  faces.  They  consti- 
tuted a  class  by  themselves  and  they  must  be  reared  and 
educated  apart,  in  surroundings  where  no  one  could 
taunt  another  with  his  father's  disgrace,  where  hope  and 
brightness  only  reigned,  where  every  boy  could  imbibe 
the  self-respect  which  is  the  foundation  of  all  honest  liv- 
ing.   And  the  beautiful  dream  came  true;  hundreds  have 

240 


OUR    LADY    OF   THE    ROSARY 

been  brought  up  in  that  pure  and  happy  atmosphere, 
learning  to  pray  for  their  fathers,  learning  profitable 
trades,  equipped  at  every  point  to  become  useful  citizens 
and  bring  up  their  own  children  in  the  love  and  fear  of 
God. 

Such  an  undertaking  bore  success  on  its  very  face.  How 
it  has  succeeded  let  the  output  of  New  Pompeii,  in  litera- 
ture alone,  testify.  The  printing  press,  the  engraving 
rooms,  the  photographic  and  artistic  studios  send  out  good 
books  and  pictures  and  periodicals  by  countless  thousands 
in  more  languages  than  I  can  remember,  carrying  the  tide 
of  pure,  uplifting  interest  and  piety  to  Europe  and 
America,  Asia,  Africa,  Australia  —  to  the  very  ends  of 
the  earth.  The  charming  little  periodical  "  The  Rosary 
and  New  Pompeii  "  had  no  subscription  price;  to  any  one 
who  asked  for  it  or  who  sent  an  offering,  however  small, 
either  for  the  Church  or  the  schools,  it  was  (I  believe 
still  is)  mailed  faithfully  year  after  year  without  pay- 
ment, and,  dear  readers,  it  affords  most  illuminating 
reading! 

Side  by  side  with  these  elevated  industries  are  ateliers  of 
book-binding,  tailoring,  shoe-making,  carpentering,  stucco 
work  for  house  decorating,  carving,  and,  if  I  remember 
rightly,  stone-cutting.  Each  boy's  taste  and  capacity  is 
duly  taken  account  of,  and,  whatever  he  goes  into,  he  is 
"  helped  to  the  best  of  himself."  The  higher  branches 
of  learning  are  open  to  those  who  can  embrace  them,  and 
I  think  the  proudest,  if  not  the  happiest,  day  of  Signor 
Longo's  life  was  the  one  on  which,  under  the  direction  of 
the   illustrious    astronomer,   the   late   Padre   Denza,   he 

241 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

opened  the  splendid  "  Osservatorio  Meteorologlco-Vol- 
canico,"  where  the  complicated  earthquake  phenomena 
and  the  science  of  meteorology  can  be  studied  to  perfec- 
tion. Oh,  the  New  Pompeii  is  all  for  science  and  progress 
of  the  real  kind!  In  its  solid  new  buildings  and  growing 
streets  one  feels  the  master  touch  of  valiant  good  sense, 
and  the  floods  of  electric  light  (no  other  is  used  in  the 
town)  are  symbolical  not  only  of  the  thoroughness  and 
conscientiousness  which  invite  inspection  everywhere,  but 
of  the  spiritual  light  which,  from  the  blessed  Sanctuary, 
its  heart,  has  brought  joy  and  healing,  and  new  birth  of 
the  soul  to  thousands  of  homes. 

How  has  it  all  been  done?  Through  faithful,  unwaver- 
ing prayer,  and  that  the  prayer  of  prayers  —  the  Rosary, 
and  the  Blessed  Virgin's  never-failing  response  to  peti- 
tions thus  offered.  For  every  gift  sent  —  and  Signor 
Longo  tells  us  that  the  millions  of  francs  have  come 
almost  entirely  in  very  small  sums  and  often  anonymously 
—  a  grace,  temporal  or  spiritual,  has  been  granted.  The 
devotion  of  the  "  Fifteen  Saturdays  "  repeatedly  explained 
and  enjoined  by  Our  Lady  Herself  when  appearing  to 
one  or  another  of  Her  faithful  children,  has  worked  so 
many  miracles,  all  witnessed  and  attested  by  great  num- 
bers of  people,  that  we  have  come  to  regard  it  as  an 
infallible  means  of  obtaining  everything  that  is  good  for 
us,  and  a  weapon,  powerful  as  the  Archangel  Michael's 
sword,  for  putting  the  powers  of  darkness  to  flight. 

The  Rosary  has  been  made  such  a  stumbling-block  to 
non-Catholics  by  ignorance  and  heresy  that  it  seems  allow- 
able and  advisable  to  explain  what  we  mean  by  it.     They 

242 


OUR   LADY    OF   THE    ROSARY 

see  the  beads  constantly  in  our  hands  and  accuse  us  of 
counting  simply  upon  the  repetition  of  so  many  Aves 
and  Paters,  without  reflection  or  mental  prayer  of  any 
kind,  to  buy  just  so  much  grace  for  ourselves  or  others. 
Nothing  could  be  further  from  the  mind  of  the  Church. 
The  chaplet  of  fifty  small  beads  and  five  large  ones  con- 
stitutes the  third  part  of  the  whole  "  Rosary  "  of  fifteen 
"  Mysteries,"  that  is  to  say,  the  fifteen  most  salient  events 
in  the  life  of  Our  Lord  and  His  Blessed  Mother,  from 
the  Annunciation  to  the  Descent  of  the  Holy  Ghost  and 
the  death  and  Assumption  into  Heaven  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin.  The  five  "  Joyful  Mysteries  "  tell  the  story  of  the 
Birth  and  Childhood  of  the  Redeemer;  the  "  Sorrowful  " 
ones  that  of  His  Passion  and  Death;  the  "Glorious" 
recount  His  Triumphant  Resurrection  and  Ascension, 
the  opening  of  the  Reign  of  the  Holy  Spirit  on  earth, 
and  the  close  of  the  mortal  life  of  Her,  who  remained 
behind,  with  us,  to  nurse  the  Infant  Church  as  she  had 
nursed  the  Infant  Christ,  and  to  impart  to  the  "  Beloved 
Physician  "  those  ineffable  details  which  she  alone  knew, 
which  she  had  kept  in  her  heart,  and  which  make  St. 
Luke's  Gospel  the  Gospel  of  Mary.  To  recite  the  whole 
Rosary  is  to  review  the  essence  of  New  Testament  his- 
tory. As  we  say  the  Pater  and  Aves  set  for  each  mystery 
we  medidate  on  it,  and  the  prayers  are  directed  towards 
the  especial  Virtue  it  inculcates;  the  sentiments  of  faith 
and  hope  and  love  and  contrition  are  fed  and  strength- 
ened—  and  never  yet  did  the  soul  fall  back  disappointed 
and  repulsed  after  devoutly  reciting  the  Rosary. 

Our  Holy  Father,  Leo  XIII,  was  unfailingly  persistent 

243 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

in  conjuring  Catholics  to  be  faithful  to  this  devotion. 
He  called  it  (I  quote  from  memory  only)  the  chief  wea- 
pon for  the  defence  of  Christendom  in  these  fearfully 
ungodly  times,  and  recommended  (so  strongly  that  it 
almost  amounts  to  a  command)  the  recital  of  the  Rosary  in 
common  in  every  Christian  home. 

P^or  the  very  poor  (and  therefore  uninstructed)  who 
have  had  no  opportunity  to  learn  the  Mysteries,  the  devout 
recital  of  the  prayers  is  enough;  but  though  it  has  been 
my  lot  to  know  and  mingle  much  with  this  class  in  different 
countries,  I  have  not  yet  met  a  Latin  Catholic  who  was 
ignorant  of  the  New  Testament  story  that  the  beads  con- 
vey. And  now  by  the  direct  intervention  of  Our  Lady, 
a  new  and  powerful  impetus  has  been  imparted  to  the 
devotion  of  the  "  Fifteen  Saturdays." 

This  consists  in  going  to  Confession  and  Communion, 
reciting  the  Rosary,  in  meditating  earnestly  on  one  Mys- 
tery, every  Saturday  for  fifteen  weelcs,  and  striving,  during 
each  week,  to  practice  the  virtue  it  inculcates.  It  is  not 
a  hard  or  wearisome  devotion;  the  busiest  people  have 
found  it  easy  to  carry  out  either  with  others  or  alone;  it 
has  saved  whole  cities  from  the  cholera  when  that  scourge 
was  raging  through  Italy;  it  has  —  but  let  me  tell  just 
one  of  the  miracles  of  healing  that  this  heaven-sent  prayer 
has  obtained  for  man.  They  are  counted  by  many  thous- 
and now,  but  this  one  is  typical,  a  very  triumph  of  grace, 
since  it  not  only  restored  the  dying  body  to  health,  but  — 
that  which  all  theologians  admit  is  a  far  greater  miracle 
—  recalled  to  life  an  impenitent  soul  steeped  in  mortal 
sin. 

244 


OUR   LADY   OF   THE    ROSARY 

On  the  I  St  of  January,  1890,  in  the  Church  of  the 
Holy  Rosary  at  Lecce,  a  Priest,  who  for  thirty  years  had 
abandoned  his  calling  and  denied  his  God,  said  Mass 
once  more,  in  the  presence  of  an  immense  concourse  of 
his  townsfolk.  His  name  was  Pasquale  Bortone,  and 
his  apostasy,  and  the  frightfully  scandalous  life  which 
resulted  from  it,  had  long  been  a  subject  of  profound 
grief  to  his  family  and  to  the  whole  community  as  well. 
Worn  out  with  evil  living  —  he  had  thrown  himself  into 
every  kind  of  dissipation  in  the  vain  attempt  to  stifle  the 
remorse  and  despair  which  pursued  him  —  he  fell  a  vic- 
tim to  a  complication  of  diseases  which  brought  him  to 
the  verge  of  the  grave;  his  lower  limbs  were  completely 
paralysed,  —  and  the  rest  of  his  body  so  shaken  by  palsy 
that  in  July,  1889,  he  could  not  sign  his  name  to  the 
certificate  for  a  pension  to  which  he  was  entitled,  and  his 
brother,  Giuseppe  Bortone,  had  to  sign  it  for  him  in  the 
presence  of  a  notary  public. 

Agonised  by  intestinal  suffering,  unable  to  sleep  or  to 
assimilate  food,  helpless,  despairing  in  heart,  the  poor 
sinner's  mind  became  affected,  and  twice  he  attempted  to 
commit  suicide.  During  the  long  months  of  illness  he  had 
more  than  once  expressed  the  desire  to  confess  his  sins 
and  be  reconciled  with  God.  The  relations  who  had  taken 
him  into  their  house  and  nursed  him  tenderly,  eagerly 
welcomed  this  return  to  grace,  but  when  they  tried  to 
induce  him  to  see  a  priest  he  obstinately  refused  and  broke 
out  in  such  storms  of  anger  that  the  attempt  had  to  be 
abandoned.  He  was  a  Freemason  and  too  terrified  of 
his  late  Satanic  associates  to  defy  them  thus  openly.  Many 

245 


REMINISCEiNCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

prayers  were  offered  for  him  that  he  might  obtain  mercy 
and  die  a  good  death,  and  he  himself,  through  all 
his  criminal  life  had,  he  could  hardly  explain  why,  con- 
tinued to  say  every  day  some  little  prayer  to  the  Blessed 
Virgin.  He  admits  that  he  had  "no  faith";  it  was  a 
habit  of  childhood  that  had  clung  to  him,  that  was 
all. 

He  was  so  evidently  near  to  his  end,  and  his  sufferings 
had  augmented  so  terribly,  that  on  November  29th,  when 
Catholics  everywhere  were  beginning  the  novena  In  prep- 
aration for  the  Feast  of  the  Immaculate  Conception,  the 
cousins  who  had  sheltered  him  found  courage  to  propose 
that  he  should  join  with  them  In  making  the  novena,  so  as 
to  obtain  (It  was  thus  they  put  It  to  him)  a  lessening  of 
pain  and  the  blessing  of  a  little  sleep.  The  sick  man  con- 
sented and  began,  with  them,  the  novena  to  Our  Lady 
of  Pompeii  as  it  Is  practised  In  the  church  there. 

On  the  night  of  the  third  day  of  the  novena,  Don 
Pasquale  Bortone  slept  —  and  dreamt.  In  his  dream  the 
Blessed  Virgin  appeared  to  him,  precisely  as  she  is  de- 
picted at  Pompeii,  and  said,  "  Confess,  and  be  reconciled 
with  God,  for  you  are  still  In  time!  "  He  awoke  a  good 
deal  impressed,  but  soon  told  himself  that  It  was  merely 
a  dream,  and  put  the  incident  from  his  mind.  The  next 
night,  however.  It  was  repeated;  this  time  Our  Lady 
condescended  to  entreat  the  sick  man,  to  command  and 
beseech  at  once,  that  he  would  save  his  soul.  "  Make 
haste !  "  she  said,  "  call  the  Confessor,  confess  your  sins 
and  you  shall  be  victorious.  On  the  day  of  my  Feast  you 
are  to  go  to  Communion." 

246 


OUR    LADY    OF    THE    ROSARY 

He  arose  a  changed  man.  Our  Lady  had  promised  him 
the  victory  over  pride  and  shame,  had  obtained  for  him 
the  grace  of  perfect  contrition  and  the  courage  to  make 
the  public  retraction  required  for  a  Priest  who  has  given 
pubhc  scandal.  She  had  called  to  life  a  soul  dead,  since 
thirty  years,  in  mortal  sin.  And  in  the  same  instant  She 
had  healed  his  body  of  all  its  ills.  He  arose  from  his 
bed,  perfectly  well  and  sound  in  every  way.  Waiting 
eagerly  for  the  first  ray  of  dawn,  as  soon  as  it  appeared 
he  sent  for  the  Parish  Priest,  narrated  the  experiences 
of  that  wonderful  night,  and  in  his  presence  wrote, 
with  a  free,  firm  hand,  the  following  letter  to  the 
Bishop: 

"  I,  the  undersigned,  Priest  Pasquale  Bortone,  taken  (preso)  by 
the  Grace  of  God  and  by  the  protection  of  Our  Blessed  Lady  of 
Pompeii,  retract  all  that  I  may  have  said  and  done  against  the 
Church  and  against  the  obligations  of  my  calling.  I  pray  God 
and  the  Blessed  Virgin  to  help  me  always,  so  that  by  a  good  life 
I  may  atone  for  the  scandal  I  have  caused  and  die  in  the  bosom 
of  the  Catholic  Church. 

"  Pasquale  Bortone,  Priest," 

Lecce,  Dec.  3,  1889. 

That  night  the  penitent  slept  calmly  and  peacefully 
for  the  first  time  since  his  falling  away.  A  day  or 
two  later  he  wrote  the  story  of  his  conversion  and 
his  healing,  for  a  paper  published  in  Lecce,  and  sent  copies 
of  it  to  every  place  where  he  had  given  scandal  during 
his  long  years  of  apostasy  and  vice. 

The  Bishop  of  Lecce,  a  wise  and  saintly  man,  examined 
his  penitent  carefully,  and,  convinced  of  the  sincerity  of 

247 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

his  conversion,  advised  him,  after  the  first  necessary  steps 
had  been  taken,  to  make  a  retreat  of  a  few  days  in  order 
to  carry  out  certain  spiritual  exercises.  Then,  like  the 
tender  father  of  Scripture,  he  reinstated  the  prodigal 
son  in  all  his  sacred  honours,  and  on  the  ist  of  January, 
1890,  Pasquale  Bortone,  before  an  immense  concourse  of 
people,  celebrated  Mass  in  the  Church  of  the  Holy 
Rosary  in  Lecce. 

It  was  too  much  for  the  repentant  sinner  to  bear  with- 
out making  some  return.  Overwhelmed  with  contrition 
and  thankfulness,  he  asked  the  Bishop's  permission  to 
confess  his  sins  in  the  public  square  and  implore  the  pardon 
of  his  fellow-townsfolk  for  the  scandal  he  had  caused. 
The  prudent  Bishop,  though  fully  approving  his  senti- 
ments, forbade  the  place  he  had  fixed  upon,  as  likely  to 
give  scandal  in  its  turn,  but  gave  him  leave  to  carry  out 
his  wish  inside  the  church.  There,  on  the  3rd  of  Janu- 
ary, Don  Pasquale,  after  saying  Mass,  told  the  congrega- 
tion the  story  of  the  miraculous  resurrection  of  his  soul 
through  the  intervention  of  Our  Blessed  Lady.  As  for 
that  of  his  body,  those  present  could  judge  of  it  for 
themselves,  for  his  desperate  state  until  a  few  days 
earlier  had  been  known  to  all,  and  now  they  saw  him 
strong  and  well,  without  a  trace  of  illness  or  emaciation. 
With  bitter  tears  he  confessed  his  errors  and  begged  for- 
giveness for  the  horrible  scandal  he  had  caused,  and  he 
did  not  weep  alone,  for  there  was  not  a  dry  eye  in  the 
church. 

When  all  was  accomplished  he  withdrew,  and  retired 
to  the  Seminary  of  Lecce,  there  to  atone  by  an  exemplary 

248 


OUR   LADY    OF   THE    ROSARY 

life  of  prayer  and  true  penitence  for  his  thirty  miserable 
years  of  rebellion.^ 

Let  me  tell  one  story,  a  very  short  one,  which  shows  that 
Our  Blessed  Lady  interests  herself  not  only  in  the  sinful 
and  suffering  but  in  the  pure  young  hearts  that  appeal  to  her 
for  help.  A  friend  of  mine  in  Sorrento,  a  good  and 
gifted  young  fellow,  fell  desperately  in  love  with  an 
equally  good  and  charming  girl.  She  returned  his  affec- 
tion, but  every  possible  obstacle  lay  in  the  way  of  their 
union.  They  had  no  money,  the  parents  refused  their 
consent,  the  relations  had  other  views  for  them  (and  in 
Italy  people  have  to  count  with  their  relations!),  and,  but 
for  great  constancy,  and  great  faith  in  Heaven's  good- 
ness, they  would  have  given  up  all  hope  of  becoming 
husband  and  wife. 

Suddenly  the  obstacles  disappeared.  The  financial 
question  was  unexpectedly  smoothed  out,  and  the  family, 
instead  of  opposing,  now  heartily  endorsed  the  engage- 
ment. A  few  weeks  later  the  young  people  were  married 
amid  much  rejoicing  and  many  congratulations  all  round. 

The  feast  was  over  and  the  party  about  to  disperse 
when  the  shy  little  bride  drew  the  bridegroom  away  from 
the  rest  and,  with  many  blushing  hesitations,  managed 
to  say,  "  Dearest,  I  —  have  something  to  confess  to 
you  —  " 

To  her  surprise,  her  lover  with  equal  timidity,  replied, 

^  This  account  is  abbreviated  from  that  in  Commendatore  Longo's  book 
"The  Fifteen  Saturdays,"  where  further  details  of  this  and  many  other 
wonderful  miracles  can  be  found,  all  attested  by  sworn  testimony  of  physi- 
cians and  witnes?es  of  the  highest  respectability.  The  book  contains  most 
beautiful  and  helpful  meditations  on  the  Mysteries  of  the  Rosary.  There  is 
a  good  English  translation  which  should  be  known  to  all  devout  Catholics. 

249 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

"  It  is  I  who  have  something  to  confess  to  you!  I  made 
a  vow  —  " 

"  /  made  a  vow!  "  she  interrupted. 

"  To  go  —  to  —  " 

*'  Communion  —  " 

"At  Pompeii  —  in  the  Church  of  Our  Lady  of  the 
Rosary  —  " 

"  The  day  after  our  marriage  —  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  so  did  I,  if  She  would  help  us  to  get 
married." 

The  colloquy  had  become  triumphant  now,  and  the  at- 
tention of  the  others  was  attracted  to  the  bridal  pair. 
At  once  the  bridegroom  told  the  gathering  of  what  had 
occurred.  Secretly  each  had  made  the  same  promise,  and 
how  joyfully  they  were  prepared  to  fulfil  it!  South  Italy 
is  the  land  of  Faith.  All  the  assembled  relations  an- 
nounced their  intention  of  accompanying  the  young 
people,  and  the  next  morning  at  the  "  screech  of  dawn  " 
they  all  set  out  in  a  string  of  "  carrozelle  "  to  accom- 
plish the  pious  pilgrimage. 

My  own  first  visit  to  the  "  Santuario  "  was  paid  in 
October,  the  Rosary  month.  I  was  alone  at  Villa  Craw- 
ford when,  one  evening,  quite  without  warning,  there  de- 
scended upon  me  from  Rome  a  big  boy  and  a  little  one, 
dusty  and  hungry  —  and  quite  sure  of  their  welcome,  for 
the  big  boy  was  a  godson  of  mine  and  a  very  good  lad, 
tal<^ing  the  place  of  the  dead  father  to  his  pale,  rickety 
little  brother,  who,  by  some  Irony  of  fate,  had  been 
christened  "  Achilles."  The  elder  one  was  named  for  my 
husband,  '*  Ugo,"  and  somehow  or  other  had  managed  to 

250 


OUR   LADY    OF   THE    ROSARY 

get  a  remarkably  good  education,  although  the  family 
was  poor  in  the  extreme.  I  had  not  heard  from  Ugo  for 
some  little  time,  and  he  now  informed  me  that  he  had  been 
at  the  point  of  death,  with  double  pneumonia;  that  he 
had  made  a  vow,  if  Heaven  granted  him  to  recover,  to 
go  to  Confession  and  Communion  at  Pompeii  —  bare- 
foot !  Would  I  please  see  about  it  and  take  him  there  the 
next  day? 

"How  about  that  little  man?"  I  asked,  pointing  to 
Achilles,  who  had  fallen  asleep  over  his  supper  in  a  high 
chair. 

"  Perhaps  Don  Bonlfazio  will  be  kind  enough  to  take 
care  of  him?"  this  with  a  radiant  smile  at  the  butler, 
who  was  evidently  taking  much  interest  in  Ugo's  pious 
plans.  The  good  man  had  been  waiting  on  my  travel- 
stained  wayfarers  with  every  deference,  and  now  gave 
us  the  benefit  of  his  advice  about  the  excursion  to  Pom- 
peii. Certainly  he  would  look  after  the  little  boy  — 
had  he  not  four  "  Guaglion "  of  his  own,  down  in 
Calabria? 

So,  early  the  next  morning  we  set  forth,  Ugo  and 
I,  and  the  fast  little  horses  raced  us  over  the  well-known 
road,  through  the  cliff  towns  where  the  fruit  and  vege- 
tables were  piled  round  the  market  square  like  heaps  of 
gold  and  gems  in  the  morning  sun.  Toss  down  a  barrow- 
ful  of  yellow  pumpkins  beside  great  baskets  of  purple 
grapes  and  scarlet  tomatoes  and  pale,  crisp  lettuce,  tubs 
of  green  and  yellow  plums,  and  carmine-streaked 
pomegranates,  split  and  spilling  their  translucent  ruby 
seeds;    throw  in  posies  of  bursting  carnations  and  rose- 

251 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

geranium;    sprinkle  it  all  with  fresh  water  from  the  old 
fountain  out  there  in  the  centre  of  the  Piazza,  and  then 
catch  the  first  low  rays  of  the  sun  on  the  fragrant,  dewy, 
tumbled  sweetness  —  and  thank  God  that  there  is  sucl 
a  spot  on  earth  as  the  Piano  di  Sorrento ! 

We  left  it  all  behind  and  reached  the  sun-baked  flats 
of  Pompeii  just  as  a  long  file  of  Abruzzi  women  were 
approaching  the  steps  of  the  church.  Many  miles  they 
had  tramped  —  some  had  been  walking  for  days  —  to 
realise  the  dream  of  their  lives,  a  visit  to  the  "  Santuario." 
Their  severe  costumes  and  grave  faces  struck  an  asceti- 
cally  solemn  note  in  the  bright  morning  light,  with  the 
rather  florid  fagade  of  the  church  as  a  background.  The 
peasant  dress  of  the  Abruzzi  fastnesses  has,  I  fancy, 
changed  very  little  during  the  last  thousand  years.  Heavy 
black  cloth,  spun  and  woven  at  home  from  the  wool  of 
their  own  sheep,  is  used  for  a  skirt  of  extreme  fulness, 
gathered,  as  close  as  linen  thread  and  strong  fingers  can 
gather  the  stiff  material,  to  the  waist;  a  low,  square 
bodice  with  wide  shoulder  straps  displays  the  snowy 
linen  "  camicia  "  trimmed  with  heavy  lace  —  lace  and 
linen  all  hand-made,  in  the  little  stone  houses  clinging 
to  the  castle-crowned  rock  whence  long-dead  feudal 
masters  ruled  and  defended  their  people.  To  this  day 
the  women  of  "  Ciocciaria  "  never  buy  an  article  that 
can  be  made  at  home.  For  footgear  they  wear  the  classic 
sandal,  on  their  heads  the  fringed  and  laced  linen  towel 
doubled  back  and  falling  low  enough  to  be  a  thorough 
protection  against  the  sun.  The  only  note  of  colour 
in  the  costume  is  supplied  by  a  string  or  two  of  coral 

252 


OUR    LADY    OF    THE    ROSARY 

round  the  neck  and  some  narrow  bands  of  red  and  yel- 
low at  the  edge  of  the  black  skirt. 

There  must  have  been  sixty  or  seventy  women  in  the 
procession,  and  we  watched  them  file  into  the  church 
before  turning  aside  ourselves  to  the  auxiliary  building, 
to  inquire  as  to  the  hearing  of  confessions.  These  are 
so  numerous  that  the  Fathers  who  serve  the  "  Santuario  " 
have  set  aside  special  apartments,  solemn  and  impressive 
enough,  where  they  relieve  each  other  from  dawn  to 
dark  in  the  confessionals.  When  people  have  travelled 
on  foot  from  the  other  end  of  Italy,  or  have  crossed 
the  world,  to  go  to  Communion  at  Pompeii,  the  good 
Fathers  are  not  going  to  keep  them  waiting ! 

Masses  were  going  on  In  the  church  and  we  entered 
just  in  time  for  the  beginning  of  one  at  the  High  Altar. 
At  the  door  Ugo  paused,  pulled  off  his  shoes  and  gravely 
presented  them  to  me  to  take  care  of.  Somewhat  en- 
cumbered with  my  charge,  I  was  looking  round  for  a 
seat  when  one  of  the  guardians  beckoned  to  us  to  follow 
him.  Very  kindly  he  led  us  round  to  an  archway  behind 
the  high  altar  and  gave  us  kneeling  stools  to  the  left  of 
it,  inside  the  chancel.  All  over  the  Penisola  it  is  the 
right  of  the  leading  men  of  the  community  to  have  their 
seats  there,  but  the  "  Santuario  "  is  the  only  place  where 
I  have  seen  this  privilege  extended  to  women.  I  was 
very  grateful  for  it.  In  that  intimate  vicinity  to  the 
Tabernacle  and  the  miraculous  picture  above  it  one  felt 
so  near  to  Our  Lord  and  His  Blessed  Mother;  her 
benign,  lovely  face  seemed  to  promise  the  fulfilment  of 
every  prayer,  and,  kneeling  close  as  we  did,  one  noticed 

253 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

the  dazzling  gems  and  brilliant  surroundings  not  at  all. 
They  were  dimmed  and  effaced  by  the  overwhelming 
sense  of  the  Presences;  one  could  hear  in  one's  heart, 
far  above  the  magnificent  tones  of  the  organ,  the  Alle- 
luias of  invisible,  worshipping  angels;  and  the  tide  of 
prayer  and  faith,  rising  up  from  all  those  humble,  trusting 
souls  in  the  body  of  the  church,  swept  on  like  a  flood 
that  lifted  one  away  from  the  things  of  this  world 
and  flung  one,  safe  and  unspeakably  happy,  right  at  the 
feet  of  God. 

When  we  had  made  our  thanksgiving  we  lingered  in 
the  church  to  examine  the  different  chapels  —  there  are 
seven  now,  but  they  were  not  all  completed  then  —  and 
to  admire  the  altar  pieces,  which  though  modern  in 
thought  and  execution,  are  full  of  beauty  and  devout 
feeling.  The  peasants  were  much  interested  in  them 
and  asked  me  to  tell  them  about  the  Saints  they  repre- 
sented —  St.  Francis  of  Assisi,  St.  Dominic,  St.  Catherine 
of  Siena,  and  others.  They  had  all  recognised  St. 
Michael  the  Archangel,  for  he  is  the  patron  Saint  of 
the  whole  Penisola  Sorrentina  —  Monte  Sant'  Angelo 
is  named  for  him  —  and  of  many  inland  districts  as 
well. 

Another  hour  we  spent  in  looking  over  the  ex-votos 
in  the  outer  rooms,  with  a  kind  Padre  who  gave  us  the 
history  of  some  most  interesting  ones,  and  then,  after 
buying  one  or  two  photographs  and  souveniers,  we  bade 
farewell  to  the  Santuario  of  the  Rosary  and  drove  home 
through  the  mellow  October  afternoon  very  silently.  I 
at  least  had  gained  something  which  can  never  be  taken 

254 


OUR    LADY   OF   THE   ROSARY 

away  from  me.  As  I  write,  the  photograph  I  brought 
home  all  those  years  ago,  stands  before  me  on  my  table, 
and  never  yet  have  I  looked  at  it  without  gaining  hope 
and  courage,  and  the  promise  of  constant  help  in  this 
life  and  of  the  fullness  of  peace  in  the  next. 


255 


XI 

LIFE   AT   VILLA    CRAWFORD 

A  Trying  Journey  —  A  Neapolitan  Bridal  Party  —  Wedding  Presents  and 
Business-like  Precautions  —  Sponsorial  Liabilities  —  Concetta  Changes  Her 
Mind — "  Over  the  Cliff!"  —  A  Church  under  the  Sea  —  Two  Venture- 
some Ladies  and  a  Fortunate  Catastrophe  —  The  Water  Trust  and  Its 
Guardian  —  Living  Pictures  at  the  Villa — Henry  James  Pays  Us  a  Visit 
There  —  A  Triumph  of  Ambition  —  The  Children's  Tarantella  —  Em- 
barrassing Guests  —  A  Goddess  of  the  Hills. 

IN  writing  of  life  in  and  near  Sorrento  I  have  taken 
little  notice  of  dates  and  have  perhaps  puzzled  the 
kind  reader  by  telling  of  earlier  or  later  events  and  im- 
pressions just  as  they  recurred  to  me.  An  apology  would 
be  in  place  —  I  will  ask  him  to  accept  a  reason  instead. 
The  truth  is  that  where  that  country  is  concerned,  time 
never  counts  for  me.  Some  friendly  wind  sets  south  and 
lands  me  on  the  warm  sea-washed  shore;  the  familiar 
cliffs,  with  the  mysterious  Roman  stairways  up  which 
I  could  find  my  way  blindfold,  rise  like  walls  of  peace 
and  safety;  smells  of  orange-mould,  of  rosemary  and 
oleander,  of  baked  stone  and  damp  well,  of  wine-vat 
and  ohve-press,  draw  me  on;  by  the  time  I  have  reached 
the  sky  terrace  and  lean  over  the  parapet  under  the 
dancing,  sunshot  vine-leaves,  the  years  are  no  more;  the 
past  is  embalmed,  the  future  not  my  affair;  I  am  a 
child,  or  a  disembodied  spirit  that  has  found  its  home. 

256 


LIFE   AT    VILLA    CRAWFORD 

Indeed,  after  my  dear  brother  settled  there,  it  was  more 
of  a  home  to  us  all  than  even  my  mother's  house  In  Rome. 
Whenever  I  returned  from  abroad  or  rushed  down  from 
England  to  see  her,  we  would  go  on  together  to  the 
Villa  or  the  Cocumella,  and  only  the  sternest  rulings  of 
duty  could  get  us  away  again.  The  year  that  Uncle  Sam 
was  with  us  there  I  had  quite  an  anxious  journey  down, 
I  remember.  My  mother  and  the  others  came  later,  but 
I  went  on  with  my  little  boys  early  in  June;  the  eldest 
had  been  frightfully  ill  with  meningitis  and  rheumatic 
fever,  and  it  was  necessary  to  get  out  of  town  before  the 
great  heat  began.  Hugh  could  not  come,  but  I  had  the 
children's  good  little  French  governess  with  me  and  we 
hoped  all  would  go  well.  And  so  it  would  have  done  — 
but  for  the  cat! 

During  Jack's  long  illness  and  convalescence  that  which 
seemed  to  do  him  more  good  than  anything  else  was  the 
visit,  repeated  with  constant  kindness,  of  two  little  white 
Persian  kittens  brought  over  from  the  Embassy  for  him 
to  play  with.  They  were  too  small  to  be  separated  from 
their  mother  for  any  time,  so  Lady  Paget  used  to  send 
them  across  by  her  daughter's  governess.  In  a  big  bag  of 
lilac  tarlatan,  into  which  they  were  packed  again  after 
an  hour  or  so  and  solemnly  carried  home.  When  they 
grew  bigger.  Gay  Paget,  whose  cherished  property  they 
were,  presented  Jack  with  one  of  them,  and  from  that 
moment  the  "  Principessa  "  became  an  Important  mem- 
ber of  the  family,  for  the  boy  refused  to  move  without 
her. 

The  day  of  our  journey  down  to  Naples  was  a  terribly 

257 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

hot  one.  I  was  watching  my  small  invalid  very  anx- 
iously, for  he  grew  whiter  and  whiter  as  the  scorching 
hours  dragged  on,  and  I  had  to  bathe  his  head  and  hands 
with  eau-de-Cologne  every  few  minutes  to  keep  him 
from  fainting.  Suddenly  he  gave  a  cry — "The 
Principessa  has  fainted !  Oh,  I  know  she  is  going  to 
diel  "  I  looked  into  the  corner  where  the  little  creature 
had  been  lying,  and  sure  enough,  there  she  was,  a  limp 
heap,  with  glazed  eyes  and  the  pink  in  her  nose  changed 
to  dead  white.  It  took  us  some  time  to  restore  her. 
We  poured  milk  and  brandy  down  her  throat  and 
drenched  her  with  eau-de-Cologne,  and  finally  she  came 
to,  but  it  was  a  close  shave.  There  was  the  horrible 
Naples  station  to  alight  at  —  less  familiar  then  than  in 
after  years  —  with  its  crowds  of  porters  all  fighting 
for  a  chance  to  carry  even  the  smallest  bit  of  our  traps. 
(Later  I  knew  most  of  them  by  name  —  and  how  gladly 
would  I  since  have  hailed  some  of  them  in  America's 
odious  porterless  stations!)  We  had  to  catch  the  late 
afternoon  train  to  Castellammare,  the  bridal  train  by 
which  every  respectable  middle-class  couple  leaves  Naples, 
to  spend  the  honeymoon  in  some  one  of  the  little  water- 
ing places  round  the  Bay. 

A  Neapolitan  bridal  party —  and  I  never  yet  saw  the 
Naples  station  without  one  at  that  hour  of  the  after- 
noon —  is  a  very  funny,  very  Latin  affair.  Every  member 
of  both  families  feels  bound  to  be  present  at  the  send- 
off;  the  women's  frocks  are  marvellous  to  behold  — 
evidently  the  result  of  tremendous  thought  and  all  that 
could   possibly   be   achieved   in    expenditure  —  and   the 

258 


LIFE   AT   VILLA    CRAWFORD 

clothes  of  the  bridegroom  and  his  supporters  are  still  more 
amazing.  A  Neapolitan  dandy  must  be  seen  to  be  appre- 
ciated; lavender  trousers,  white  silk  waistcoat,  scarlet  tie, 
yellow  gloves,  gardenia  or  tea-rose  in  his  button-hole  —  a 
real  burst  of  glory  such  as  northerners  are  seldom  treated 
to.  Bride  and  bridegroom  seem  to  vie  In  the  number  of 
relations  they  can  produce  on  such  occasions;  I  have  some- 
times seen  a  crowd  that  nearly  filled  the  big  platform,  all 
keeping  up  the  "  gaiete  de  commande  "  as  well  as  they 
could  until  about  ten  minutes  before  the  departure  of  the 
train.  Then  the  kissing  begins.  Every  woman  must 
kiss  the  bride  several  times  on  both  cheeks;  her  new 
father  and  brothers-in-law,  if  there  are  any,  must  do  the 
same;  and  then  all  the  men  kiss  the  bridegroom,  also 
on  both  cheeks,  a  process  which  disturbs  him  not  at  all, 
since  it  is  the  usual  greeting  amongst  near  relatives,  mas- 
culine as  well  as  feminine.  When  the  last  whistle  sounds, 
the  women  are  mostly  crying,  though  the  men  hail  the 
signal  with  undisguised  relief. 

I  watched  one  pair  alight  from  the  train  at  Torre 
Anunziata,  and  the  change  worked  by  thirty  minutes  of 
companionship  was  rather  striking.  Towards  me  they 
came,  along  the  platform,  the  man  stalking  ahead,  scowl- 
ing furiously.  The  bride  followed,  pale,  tired,  and  dis- 
couraged, carrying  her  cloak  and  handbag,  while  the 
bridal  bouquet,  fading  already,  had  been  confided  to  the 
railway  porter  who  was  staggering  behind  them  with  the 
rest  of  their  traps.  Poor  things,  I  am  afraid  there  had 
been  very  little  romance  In  their  engagement! 

Romance,    Indeed,    Is    not    considered    a    particularly 

259 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

necessary  element  In  marriage  in  South  Italy,  although 
unions,  as  a  rule,  turn  out  very  well.  Suitability  of  age 
and  means,  good  character  in  the  man  (among  the  lower 
classes  this  is  insisted  on),  pious  training  and  a  pleasant 
disposition  on  the  part  of  the  girl,  mutual  liking  —  these 
modest  qualifications  are  considered  enough  to  give  them 
both  a  fair  chance  of  happiness  to  start  with,  and  the 
rest  is  their  own  affair.  Until  the  marriage  has  taken 
place  the  parents  watch  jealously  over  the  interests  of 
their  offspring.  When  all  the  consents  have  been  ob- 
tained, the  young  man  and  his  father  bring  "  the  gold  " 
to  present  to  the  bride-elect.  "  L'Oro  "  —  it  is  never 
called  anything  else  —  consists  of  long  chains  for  the 
neck,  ear-rings,  and  a  big  brooch;  all  must  be  of  pure 
gold,  guaranteed  by  the  local  jeweller. 

The  ornaments  are  displayed  by  the  young  man's 
father,  and  if  they  are  not  adequate  to  his  fortune  and 
position,  he  is  immediately  made  sensible  of  the  fact  by 
the  coolness  of  the  bride's  parents.  As  a  rule,  however, 
a  good  deal  of  lavishness  is  shown,  since  for  the  rest  of 
his  life  the  bridegroom's  general  solvency  and  prosperity 
will  be  judged  by  these  objects,  which  his  wife  will  wear 
every  time  she  goes  to  church  or  to  market.  But,  since 
everything  is  uncertain  in  this  world,  fitting  precautions 
must  be  taken  to  have  the  goods  returned  to  the  donors 
should  the  marriage  not  take  place.  So,  after  the  cus- 
tomary cakes  and  glasses  of  wine  have  been  partaken 
of,  a  pair  of  jeweller's  scales  is  produced  and  the  gold  is 
weighed,  the  weight  scrupulously  set  down,  and  a  re- 
ceipt for  it  handed  to  the  bridegroom's  father.     In  one 

260 


LIFE    AT    VILLA    CRAWFORD 

case  where  the  girl  was  a  god-daughter  of  ours,  the 
young  man,  after  his  betrothal,  decided  to  go  to  America. 
Concetta  was  an  only  child,  and  entirely  refused  to  leave 
her  parents;  so,  after  much  sorrow  and  heart-burning, 
the  marriage  was  broken  off,  and  the  splendid  chains 
and  ear-rings  and  the  great  warming-pan  of  a  brooch  had 
to  be  weighed  out  once  more  to  certify  that  no  link  or 
danglums  had  been  abstracted,  and  were  then  restored  to 
the  not-to-be  bridegroom's  father.  The  incident  made  a 
bad  impression.  Concetta  was  accused  of  being  "  cap- 
pricciosa  "  —  the  worst  accusation  that  can  be  levelled  at 
a  young  woman  in  the  sober  Penisola  —  and  when  I 
last  saw  her  was  in  a  fair  way  to  become  an  old  maid, 
in  spite  of  the  fact  that,  for  her  station  In  life,  she  was 
quite  a  little  heiress. 

The  relation  of  sponsor,  whether  of  Baptism  or  Con- 
firmation, may  become  a  rather  embarrassing  one  in  that 
part  of  the  world.  It  creates  a  tie  as  lasting  and  re- 
sponsible as  any  blood-relationship,  and  on  every  occa- 
sion of  any  importance  the  god-parent  is  expected  to 
remember  it  generously.  It  not  only  binds  the  two  chief 
persons  in  the  arrangement,  but  both  their  families  as 
well.  We  are  all  "  Commara  "  and  "  Compare  "  to  each 
other  for  all  time,  and  In  time  things  get  so  mixed  up 
that  sometimes  my  sister  Daisy  and  I  try  in  vain  to  re- 
member which  of  us  was  the  originator  of  the  liabilities 
in  some  particular  case.  Concetta's  mother,  for  Instance, 
never  gave  any  of  us  a  chance  to  escape.  Her  house 
lay  on  the  road  to  Massa,  the  beginning  of  most  of  our 
drives.     In  going  out  she  spied  us,  and  on  our  return 

261 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

was  always  waiting  in  the  middle  of  the  road  with  a  big 
bunch  of  flowers  or  a  basket  of  cakes,  for  which  who- 
ever was  in  the  carriage  had  to  make  a  suitable  return  in 
cash.  Besides  this  she  appeared  once  a  week  at  the  house, 
with  fruit,  or  "  ricotta,"  or  some  such  offering,  and  on 
these  occasions  one  had  to  give  her  time  as  well  as  money 
or  clothes  or  whatever  else  she  asked  for,  since  every 
event  of  the  little  household  had  to  be  poured  out  to 
patient  ears  and  much  good  advice  and  encouragement 
administered.  It  was  a  bore  —  but  still  it  gave  one  the 
"  homey  "  feeling  of  clanship.  These  people  would  do 
anything  for  us,  and  in  times  when  social  disintegration 
ramps  unchecked,  it  is  a  comfort  to  find  the  old  feudal 
sentiment  —  for  it  resolves  itself  into  that  —  not  quite 
dead  yet ! 

I  am  afraid  that  with  the  introduction  of  the  tram- 
way from  Castellammare  and  the  consequent  influx  of 
strangers  in  no  way  rooted  to  the  soil,  the  Penisola  is 
less  conservative  to-day  than  it  was  ten  years  ago,  but  it 
will  take  more  than  ten  years  to  efface  the  traditions  of 
two  thousand,  or  to  essentially  weaken  the  faith  im- 
planted by  the  southern  apostles  and  martyrs  and  so 
splendidly  nourished  by  St.  Benedict's  foundations  in  the 
sixth  century,  when  he  made  Monte  Cassino  a  centre  of 
Christian  teaching  for  all  that  country.  From  his  day 
to  our  own.  Saints  and  Doctors  have  never  been  wanting 
in  South  Italy;  their  complete  comprehension  of  the  peo- 
ple's character  and  needs  is  testified  to  by  the  lovingly 
familiar  veneration  in  which  they  are  held.  I  think  there 
is  nothing  more  charming  in  literature  than  St.  Alfonso 

262 


LIFE   AT   VILLA    CRAWFORD 

de  LIguori's  poems  in  the  Neapolitan  dialect;  one  of 
them,  a  sonnet  to  the  Blessed  Virgin,  seems  to  come 
straight  from  the  heart  of  some  errant  and  repentant 
lad  of  the  Penisola.  The  coaxing,  musical  vernacular 
of  the  dialect  defies  translation;  it  is  like  the  confident 
lisping  prayer  of  a  naughty  child  begging  to  be  taken  back 
into  grace  — "  Kiss  me,  and  I  will  never  be  naughty 
again!  " 

The  very  storms  that  have  assailed  the  safety  of  the 
land  have  only  strengthened  this  intense  religiousness,  if 
I  may  coin  the  word.  The  enemy,  in  the  earliest  ages, 
was  the  pagan,  so  feared  and  detested  that  he  Is  not  even 
now  forgotten.  A  friend  of  mine  was  telling  me  one 
day  how  her  father,  a  great  orange-grower,  discovered 
on  his  land  a  sepulchral  vault  of  the  Roman  times;  it 
had  never  been  disturbed  and  was  full  of  stone  sarcophagi 
and  cinerary  urns.  "  How  delightful!  "  I  cried,  "  what 
did  he  do  with  those  treasures?  Can  I  see  them 
some  day?  " 

My  friend  looked  at  me  in  horror.  "  See  them?  No 
indeed !  Papa  threw  them  all  over  the  cliff  into  the  sea  I 
Who  would  wish  to  have  the  bones  and  coffins  of  wicked 
pagans  on  his  land?  Such  things  belong  to  the  Devil  — 
not  to  good  Christians!  " 

After  the  pagan  came  the  far  more  terrible  Saracen, 
pirate,  ravager,  murderer,  to  carry  off  whole  communi- 
ties into  slavery  and  burn  the  towns  where  the  old  and 
sick,  who  were  not  worth  taking  away,  found  a  death 
infinitely  preferable  to  the  existence  which  lay  before  the 
unfortunate  captives.    His  raids  were  so  sudden  that  often 

263 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

but  few  could  reach  the  Angevin  towers  of  refuge  which 
still  rise,  monuments  of  his  rapacity,  all  along  the  coast. 
In  the  ever-recurring  conflict  with  this  Infidel  enemy,  the 
loathing  of  all  that  was  not  Christian  must  have  been 
greatly  intensified,  and  the  sense  of  the  necessity  of  Divine 
protection  constantly  strengthened.  This,  at  least,  was 
a  benefit,  and  not  the  only  one  resulting  from  great 
calamity,  for,  tempted  by  the  beauty  and  richness  of  the 
land,  many  a  robber  elected  to  settle  there,  thus  infusing 
into  the  soft  Graeco-Roman  stock  the  hardier  qualities 
of  his  own  race.  Very  distinct  are  the  types  to  this  day 
except  in  one  thing;  the  descendants  of  the  Barbary 
pirate  are  quite  as  devout  Christians  as  any  of  their  now 
fellow-countrymen. 

Although  I  fancy  they  rarely  ventured  as  far  north  as 
our  Penisola,  many  of  its  inhabitants,  and  especially  the 
sailors,  are  of  this  fine  type,  proud,  upstanding  men  with 
rigid  ideas,  in  spite  of  a  certain  childlike  simplicity  of 
character.  They  rule  their  families  like  autocrats,  have 
their  own  guilds,  their  own  churches.  One  of  these,  San 
Giorgio  dei  Marinai,  was  cut  in  the  face  of  the  rock,  just 
below  the  town  of  Sorrento,  on  the  sea  level,  and  the 
constant  encroachments  of  the  sea  have  made  it  the 
strangest  church  in  the  world,  for  now  it  can  only  be 
entered  by  boat,  and  one  rows,  in  twenty  feet  of  water, 
up  to  where  one  can  look  down  on  the  high  altar,  still 
intact,  with  the  fish  swimming  lazily  across  the  stone  steps, 
and  tags  of  seaweed  waving  mistily  on  the  pavement 
where  devout  souls  used  to  kneel.  There  never  were 
any  windows;  all  the  light  was  supplied  by  the  vast  open- 

264 


LIFE   AT    VILLA    CRAWFORD 

ing  of  the  rocky,  arched  doorway,  and  it  shimmers  up 
on  the  hewn  walls  in  a  thousand  lovely  reflections, 
changing  every  minute  with  the  play  of  sun  and  waves 
outside. 

The  sea  eats  hungrily  into  the  Sorrento  cliffs.  In  every 
winter  storm  the  north  wind  flings  it  fiercely  against  them 
and  they  crumble  and  slide  in  bits,  so  that  the  face  of  the 
sea  wall  has  quite  changed  in  many  places  since  I  first 
beheld  it  as  a  child;  entire  stairways  have  been  washed 
away  (each  villa  has  its  own)  and  new  ones  have  been 
cut,  generally  on  the  exterior  of  the  rock  instead  of  being 
tunnelled  through  it  after  the  old  fashion.  How  much 
the  sea  has  swallowed  is  curiously  indicated  by  the  layer 
of  mosaics  and  bits  of  marble  that  one  strikes  if  one 
dives  too  rashly  off  the  steps  of  the  bathing  places;  you 
can  bring  up  handfuls  of  crumbled  blue  and  gold,  bits 
of  real  murrhine  glass  the  colour  of  the  Mediterranean 
after  a  stormy  sunset  —  fragments  of  white  and  pink 
and  yellow  marble ;  all  the  pounded  ruin  of  some  sump- 
tuous Roman  villa  is  there,  and  through  it,  in  a  hundred 
places,  little  warm  springs  break  up  under  your  feet  close 
to  the  shore,  bubbling  pleasantly  but  losing  themselves 
almost  at  once  in  the  great  cool  wash  of  the  sea. 

My  brother's  house,  standing  on  a  jutting  cliff  with 
a  deep  ravine  on  its  eastern  side,  was  in  a  position  none 
too  safe  during  the  first  few  years  of  his  habitation  there. 
The  owner  of  the  land  which  joined  his,  along  the  ravine, 
had  a  stone-quarry  which,  in  spite  of  repeated  warnings, 
he  worked  with  persistent  recklessness  till  rift  after  rift 
appeared  in  the  whole  mass  of  rock,  and,  in  the  opinion 

265 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

of  the  neighbours,  a  terrible  landslide,  Involving  Villa 
Crawford  Itself,  was  inevitable,  sooner  or  later.  A  depu- 
tation came  to  warn  the  owners  of  their  danger,  but  my 
brother  and  his  wife  were  away,  having  left  the  children 
in  charge  of  their  grandmother,  Mrs.  Berdan,  and  a  young 
cousin  of  Bessie's,  Fanny  Lay,  who  had  been  spending 
the  summer  there.  Mrs.  Berdan  at  once  sent  the  four 
children  and  their  attendants  up  to  Sant'  Agata,  a  ham- 
let on  the  crest  of  the  divide,  where  there  was  a  nice 
"  pension  "  already  much  patronised  by  the  family  in 
very  hot  weather.  When  the  little  people  had  been  driven 
off,  jubilant  over  what  was  to  them  a  favourite  excursion, 
Mrs.  Berdan  and  Fanny  Lay  exchanged  a  long  look  of 
questioning.  Each  caught  in  the  other's  eyes  a  gleam  of 
wicked  venturesomeness. 

"  I  would  n't  miss  it  for  worlds !  "  exclaimed  Fanny. 

"  I  mean  to  stay,"  was  her  elder's  reply,  "  but  I  ought 
to  send  you  after  the  children." 

"Would  you  like  to  try?"  Fanny  asked,  with  the 
little  Indian  snarl  in  her  deep  voice  that  we  all  knew  so 
well.  One  of  her  forbears  had  taken  a  Cherokee  Prin- 
cess—  or  something  of  that  kind  —  to  wife,  and  to 
scratch  the  girl's  temper  was  to  recall  the  red  lady  at 
once.  Fanny  got  very  angry  when  Marion  called  her 
the  Squaw,  but  she  had  a  good  many  characteristics  that 
could  have  been  derived  only  from  that  caprice  in  her  an- 
cestry—  coal  black  eyes  and  hair,  a  wild,  most  alluring 
beauty  of  face  and  figure,  and  an  altogether  unholy 
fashion  of  getting  her  own  way.  It  was  always  more 
convenient  to  give  in  to  her  whims  than  to  let  loose  that 

266 


LIFE    AT    VILLA    CRAWFORD 

Indian  tornado  of  a  temper  I  She  had  a  wonderful 
soprano  voice  and  sang  like  a  trained  artist;  also  there 
were  most  lovable  sides  to  her  character,  and  she  was 
fiercely  loyal  to  those  she  called  her  friends,  besides 
possessing  the  quality  which  appeals  to  some  of  us  almost 
more  than  any  other,  absolute  fearlessness  in  the  joy  of 
pursuing  adventure.  This  quality  crops  up  in  very  un- 
expected places.  Mrs.  Berdan,  the  charming,  elderly, 
cosmopolitan,  society  woman,  had  it  in  a  marked  degree. 
She  quite  sympathised  with  Fanny's  mood  that  day,  and 
the  two  ladies  resolved  to  "  see  it  out,"  much  to  the  dis- 
tress of  the  Mayor  (who  was  also  the  doctor),  the  good 
"  Parroco,"  and  all  the  humbler  neighbours. 

They  were  not  cheated  of  the  experience,  for  that  night 
"  it  "  came.  An  hour  after  midnight  a  fearful  report, 
which  was  heard  many  miles  away,  rang  out  over  the 
sleeping  country,  and  was  followed  by  a  perfect  cannon- 
ade of  thuds,  each  of  which  seemed  to  shake  the  Villa 
Crawford  to  its  foundations.  The  echoes  went  rolling 
away  among  the  hills  and  then  were  roused  afresh  by 
new  boomings  —  as  if  the  Titans  were  having  a  ball 
game  with  boulders  for  missiles.  The  two  women  were 
honestly  frightened  then,  they  afterwards  told  me,  but 
when  the  commotion  ceased  and  they  found  the  house 
still  standing  over  their  heads,  they  rather  congratulated 
themselves  on  having  the  thing  to  remember. 

With  the  dawn  they  crept  out  to  see  what  had  really 
happened,  and  then  they  became  jubilant,  for  the  entire 
area  of  the  stone  quarry  had  flung  itself  down  on'Marlon's 
land  in  the  ravine  bottom,  and  the  masses  of  tumbled 

267 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

stone  had  thereby  become  his  property.  For  years  he  had 
been  trying  to  buy  that  dangerous  bit  of  land,  in  order 
to  enlarge  his  grounds  on  the  side  of  the  ravine,  but  the 
proprietor,  taking  advantage  of  his  evident  keenness, 
had  set  an  absurd  price  on  it,  which  Marion  refused  to 
pay.  Now  its  chief  asset  had  become  his  by  law,  and  a 
short  time  afterwards  he  succeeded  in  acquiring  the  con- 
tiguous orange  orchard,  etc.,  at  a  reasonable  figure,  while 
the  stone  so  rudely  presented  to  him  furnished  the 
material  for  the  impregnable  and  towering  masonry 
which  now  protects  the  Villa  from  the  Invasions  of  the 
sea  and  all  danger  of  landslides  along  the  deep  ravine. 
One  more  benefit  also  accrued  to  him  from  that  summer 
night's  catastrophe.  The  hurling  rocks  scooped  out  a 
hollow  where  they  fell,  and  let  loose  a  hitherto  unsus- 
pected spring  of  purest  water  which  was  at  once  utilised 
as  a  supplementary  supply  for  the  house. 

This  question  of  a  permanent  water  supply  was  one  to 
which  my  brother  had  paid  most  earnest  attention,  not 
because  water,  and  that  of  the  purest,  is  wanting,  at  our 
end  of  the  Penlsola,  but  because  of  the  peculiar  condi- 
tions under  which  it  is  obtained  when  required  in  any 
great  quantity.  Most  of  the  older  houses  have  wells 
of  their  own,  very  ancient  and  so  deep  that  it  requires 
several  minutes  to  pull  up  the  endless  yards  of  rope  at- 
tached to  the  bucket.  The  well  in  the  courtyard  of  the 
Cocumella,  indeed,  has  flights  of  spiral  stairs  leading  to 
chambers  cut  in  the  rock  to  serve  as  cellars  —  but  that 
was  the  work  of  the  Jesuit  Fathers,  who  always  do  every- 
thing so  practically  and  thoroughly. 

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LIFE   AT    VILLA    CRAWFORD 

For  general  use,  water  was  brought  down  from  the  moun- 
tains, I  cannot  say  just  how  long  ago.  In  a  series  of  piped 
channels,  over  a  distance  of  many  miles.  The  system  Is  a 
very  complicated  one,  with  faucets  and  keys  to  turn  the 
stream  on  or  off  at  great  numbers  of  stations  —  towns  and 
isolated  villas,  gardens  and  vineyards — all  along  Its  course. 
These  faucets  are  hidden  away  In  all  sorts  of  unlikely 
places,  behind  the  twentieth  brick  from  the  west  corner 
in  somebody's  wall,  under  a  certain  rock  by  the  roadside, 
two  feet  from  the  last  turning  of  the  second  lane  beyond 
Vico  Equense,  and  so  on  —  a  labyrinth  without  a  map 
or  plan  —  and  the  clue  to  It  all  Is  In  the  memory  of  one 
man,  the  "  Guardlano  dell'  Acqua!  "  He  confides  It  to 
his  heirs  as  It  was  confided  to  him  by  his  fathers,  a  secret 
jealously  kept  and  a  privilege  most  fiercely  defended. 
He  is  paid  by  the  townships,  of  course,  and  they  in  their 
turn  levy  the  water  fees  from  the  consumers,  but  if  a 
housekeeper  is  rash  enough  to  quarrel  with  the  Guardlano 
or  any  of  his  relations,  that  man's  supply  will  probably 
be  turned  off  at  a  moment's  notice  and  not  another  drop 
will  he  get  until  he  has  eaten  humble  pie  and  made  peace 
with  the  Water  Trust ! 

Everybody  is  very  polite  to  the  water-autocrat,  of 
course,  but  since  one  may  give  offence  without  intending 
it,  Marion  resolved  to  take  no  chances  for  himself  and 
his  family.  He  dug  a  reservoir  to  the  west  of  the  house, 
of  truly  Roman  dimensions;  it  contains  enough  water  to 
supply  the  Villa  for  two  years,  should  other  resources  fail; 
to  keep  it  sweet  the  device  of  the  ancients  was  employed, 
several  dozens  of  eels  being  imported  and  left  to  make  a 

269 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

home  in  Its  cool  depths ;  and  over  the  whole  my  brother 
built  the  "  Moorish  Court,"  where  we  passed  all  the 
summer  evenings  and  which  he  designed  as  the  founda- 
tion of  the  splendid  library  he  intended  to  build  later  on. 
The  first  one,  spacious  and  high  as  it  was,  could  have  held 
scarcely  another  volume.  The  very  doorways'  wide  depth 
was  utilised  to  bestow  the  books,  yet  the  apartment  was 
a  wonderfully  home-like  and  cheerful  one,  with  its  floods 
of  sunshine  and  its  wide  view  of  the  sea.  He  made  it 
my  bedroom  for  months,  as  I  said  before,  and  now  the 
place  has  become  sacred  —  for  it  was  there  that  my  dear 
brother  died. 

Many  a  long  talk  we  had  by  the  open  fireplace 
in  the  winter  twilights,  after  my  sad  return  from  Japan  in 
1894.  I  went  down  to  him  in  October,  and  I  had  only 
been  there  a  few  days  when  he  begged  me  to  take  to 
writing.  "  Write  a  children's  story,"  he  said,  "  it  will 
take  your  mind  off  other  things  and  will  sell  well  — 
there  is  a  dearth  of  good  stories  for  children  just  now." 
So  I  began  the  "  Brown  Ambassador,"  and  in  that  rigma- 
role of  fancy  could  completely  forget  my  own  identity 
as  long  as  the  pen  was  in  my  fingers.  The  greatest 
pleasure  I  had  out  of  the  little  book  was  in  Marion's  de- 
light over  its  absurdities.  His  great  happy  laugh  over 
the  scene  where  Squawx,  the  wicked  old  crow,  gets  drunk, 
rings  in  my  ears  still.  Much  good  advice  he  gave  me  too. 
One  axiom  of  his  is  very  noteworthy.  It  was  not  ad- 
dressed to  me,  but  to  a  young  writer  who  complained  that 
he  could  not  compose  in  uncongenial  surroundings.  "  My 
dear  boy,"  Marion  told  him,  "  composing  is  entirely  a 

270 


LIFE   AT   VILLA    CRAWFORD 

matter  of  habit.  If  you  made  up  your  mind  to  do  it,  you 
could  write  a  treatise  on  ice-cream,  in  Hell!  " 

The  library  was  put  to  other  than  library  uses  some- 
times. One  of  the  doorways  into  the  drawing-room  was 
very  wide  and  deep,  making  a  splendid  frame  for  im- 
promptu Tableaux  Vivants.  Marion  shared  my  love  of 
such  things  and  listened  eagerly  when  I  represented  to 
him  that  with  a  house  full  of  pretty  women  and  beau- 
tiful children  it  was  sheer  waste  not  to  "  get  up  "  some- 
thing to  amuse  the  elders  —  to  whom  I  did  not  belong  in 
those  days.  My  mother  and  stepfather  and  Mrs.  Berdan 
made  the  nucleus  of  the  audience,  much  swelled  by  friends 
and  retainers,  and  as  for  the  Dramatis  Personae,  it  was 
"  I'embarras  du  choix." 

When  once  the  magic  word,  "  Tableaux,"  had  been 
spoken,  Marion  let  everything  else  go  to  the  winds  and 
flung  himself  into  the  dramatic  stream  with  a  zest  that 
carried  the  whole  establishment  with  him.  To  us  It  was 
utter  joy  —  I  am  never  so  happy  as  in  organising  a 
"  show  "  if  I  have  any  kind  of  material  to  work  with,  and 
am  sure  I  was  born  to  be  a  theatrical  manager.  (Though 
my  dear  mother  once  gravely  assured  me  that  the 
world  had  lost  two  first-rate  housemaids  In  her  and 
myself!) 

With  all  the  sailors  for  scene-shifters,  and  masses  of 
embroideries  and  rich  stuffs  to  utilise,  it  would  have  been 
disgraceful  not  to  turn  out  something  very  superior  in- 
deed. And  we  did.  One  or  two  of  those  pictures  have 
stayed  in  my  mind;  Marion  in  Moorish  armour  made  a 
superb  executioner  for  Bessie  as  a  condemned  wife,  her 

271 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

golden  hair,  with  jessamine  blossoms  caught  like  stars  in 
the  gold,  rippling  to  the  ground  where  she  had  flung  her- 
self at  his  feet,  one  white  arm  catching  at  the  scimitar, 
praying  for  mercy.  The  setting  was  as  good  as  the  figures 
—  a  gorgeous  Moorish  interior  built  out  of  tapestries  and 
brasses  fetched  from  the  drawing-room.  It  was  all  so 
real  that  the  smaller  children  were  rather  frightened  lest 
their  beautiful  Mamma's  head  should  be  cut  off  before 
the  curtain  fell ! 

Then  we  had  a  Spanish  Infanta  —  whose  portrait  had 
been  haunting  me  for  years  and  for  whom  I  found  a 
perfect  impersonation  in  a  very  dear  girl  staying  in  the 
house.  That  one  I  had  photographed,  frame  and  all, 
and  nobody  who  has  seen  that  photo  will  believe  that  it 
is  not  the  reproduction  of  a  17th  century  portrait.  But 
the  triumph  of  that  particular  evening  was,  I  think,  our 
Vestal  Virgin,  tending  the  sacred  flame.  In  a  grove  of 
dark  ilex  (each  tree  upheld  by  an  invisible  sailor)  stood 
my  niece,  Louise  von  Rabe,  a  girl  not  strikingly  hand- 
some in  everyday  life,  but  perfect,  as  a  statue,  in  cling- 
ing white,  reaching  up  to  feed  the  flame  on  the  tall  classi- 
cal tripod  —  into  which  Marion,  who  was  a  bit  of  a 
chemist,  had  put  some  weird  ingredients,  for  it  flung  up 
a  tall,  pear-shaped  flame  of  disturbing  brilliancy,  but  most 
becoming  to  the  calm,  severe  young  face  it  shone  down 
upon.  There  was  a  gasp  from  the  audience  when  the  cur- 
tain went  up  on  that!  Then  the  children  screamed  their 
delight,  while  the  elders  voiced  their  fear  of  a  conflagra- 
tion. Marion  never  made  any  mistakes  of  that  kind; 
he  had  the  thing  under  control,  but  we  could  only  show 

272 


LIFE   AT    VILLA    CRAWFORD 

that  picture  twice;  when  the  third  came,  the  "dope" 
had  given  out,  and  our  Vestal  said  she  was  glad  of  it  — 
she  had  been  frightened  to  death! 

The  next  time  the  dramatic  Muse  took  us  In  hand  we 
chose  a  larger  space  where  we  could  give  pictures  with 
many  figures  in  them.  Beyond  the  dining-room  was  an 
unfinished  hall  with  slender  marble  pillars  dividing  off  one 
end  of  it,  a  tiny  gallery  for  musicians,  a  balconied  window 
towards  the  sea,  and  some  other  peculiar  features  which 
made  it  a  fine  theatre  for  our  impromptu  representa- 
tions. I  forget  whose  birthday  it  was  —  there  were  so 
many  to  mark  with  "  festas  "  —  but  I  remember  that  we 
had  resolved  to  surpass  ourselves  that  time  because  the 
ever-beloved  Henry  James  was  staying  in  the  house,  and 
a  smile  of  pleasure  and  approbation  from  him  was  worth 
putting  one's  self  "  a  quatre  "  for.  Some  twenty-two  years 
earlier,  in  my  "  salad  days,"  I  had  the  tenacity  to  act 
one  of  Musset's  diaphanous  little  comedies  before  him. 
Youth  and  confidence  carried  me  through  it;  and  I  had 
the  help  of  being  more  than  half  in  love  with  my  "  primo 
amoroso,"  dear  Mario  Gigllucci;  but  I  realised  my  rash- 
ness when  Mr.  James  took  me  aside  afterwards  and 
said  In  his  confidential.  Indulgent  way,  "  Why  did  n't  you 
come  to  me  first?  I  could  have  taught  you  some  of 
Madeleine  Brohan's  touches!  You  missed  some  of  the 
best  points." 

I  had  found  it  prudent  to  give  up  acting,  myself,  after 
three  or  four  years  of  marriage.  Violent  love  scenes  on 
the  stage  with  good-looking  men  are  not  conducive  to 
harmony  at  home.     But  keep  out  of  the  thing  I  cannot! 

273 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

People  have  traded  on  this  weakness,  to  make  me  respon- 
sible for  some  rather  big  and  hard  undertakings;  even 
now  I  doubt  whether  I  could  refuse  if  they  tried  again; 
but  when  Marion  and  I  were  together  nothing  seemed 
hard!  On  that  particular  occasion  at  Sorrento  we 
"  thought-up  "  some  splendid  pictures,  several  of  which  I 
used  in  Japan  in  1906,  in  a  show  given  for  the  famine 
sufferers.  We  had  with  us  the  Marchese  Patrizi  and  his 
wife;  she  was  a  Gondi  of  Florence,  and  so  like  Dante 
that  I  put  her  into  a  scarlet  robe  and  hood,  turned  the 
sailors  into  monks,  and  behold  Dante,  approaching  the 
convent  —  clinging  to  a  pillar  of  the  dim  cloister  —  seek- 
ing refuge  from  his  enemies ! 

To  follow  this  we  wanted  a  blaze  of  Borgian  colour,  so 
we  gave  Caterina  Sforza  fighting  her  famous  duel  across 
the  supper  table  with  Cesare  Borgia — Marion  resplendent 
in  that  gorgeous  costume,  while  the  horrified  Cardinal  (my 
son  Jack)  puts  up  his  hand  to  knock  the  rapiers  apart,  and 
the  virago's  page,  from  whom  she  had  snatched  the 
weapon,  looks  on  In  unholy  delight.  After  this  had  been 
duly  applauded  came  a  really  beautiful  scene — the  Gaulish 
Chieftain,  Verclngetorex,  giving  himself  and  his  family 
up  to  the  Roman  conqueror,  to  save  his  people.  Marchese 
Patrizi  was  the  prostrate  hero,  his  children's  governess, 
whose  hair  fell  to  her  feet,  his  mourning  wife,  and  the 
little  Patrlzis,  clothed  in  skins,  were  grouped  behind  them 
where  they  lay  at  the  feet  of  the  hard-hearted  Emperor, 
my  youngest  son,  in  toga  and  laurel  wreath,  sitting  on  a 
real  curule  chair  under  a  canopy  upheld  by  four  stalwart 
guards,  the  ever-useful  sailors.     They  were  shy  at  first 

274 


LIFE   AT    VILLA    CRAWFORD 

of  showing  themselves  In  short  tunics  and  bare  legs,  but 
when  they  beheld  Marlon,  as  their  leader.  In  the  same 
costume,  they  became  reconciled  to  it.  He  stood  out  as 
the  chief  point  in  the  picture,  a  towering  figure  to  the 
right  of  the  Emperor,  axe  in  hand,  and  looking  contempt- 
uously down  on  the  captive  Gaul. 

Last  of  all  we  had  a  fairy  scene  from  Midsummer 
Night's  Dream  —  a  triumph  of  ambition !  There  were 
six  little  Patrizi's  and  four  Crawfords,  and  our  tiny  stage 
was  crowded,  but  the  picture  was  so  pretty  that  the 
musicians,  who  had  been  playing  all  the  evening  in  the 
hidden  niches,  with  a  flask  of  ChlantI  to  keep  up  their 
spirits,  forgot  their  music  and  nearly  tumbled  over  in  their 
eagerness  to  see  It.  Marion's  youngest  girl,  a  golden- 
haired  little  Titania,  sat  stroking  the  donkey  ears  of  a 
huge  mask,  inside  of  which  her  twin,  Bertie,  was  choking 
with  laughter.  The  fairies  hovered  round  and  about 
them.  In  the  branching  greenery,  and  Eleanor  Crawford 
stood  above,  like  a  presiding  goddess,  with  stars  in  her 
fair  hair  and  flowers  trailing  down  her  white  robes,  and 
bare  arms  raised  as  if  to  call  down  blessings  on  true  lovers 
and  punishment  on  fickle  ones.  My  brother  never  real- 
ised till  then  how  lovely  his  eldest  daughter  was.  We 
were  standing  In  the  wings,  and  he  turned  to  me  with 
a  cry  of  triumph  —  "  MImo,  do  you  understand?  That 
is  beauty!  " 

"  Comme  vous  y  allez  !  "  Henry  James  exclaimed  when 
we  crawled  out  of  our  hiding  place.  "  That  was  enchant- 
ing! How  long  have  you  been  preparing  this  surprise 
for  us  all?" 

275 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

"  We  thought  of  it  yesterday  morning,"  I  replied.  "  All 
the  frocks  have  been  made  since  then!  " 

"  It  is  not  the  frocks,"  he  said,  —  manlike,  he  thought 
frocks  grew  of  themselves  — "  but  the  thought,  the 
elaborateness !  But  you  had  wonderful  material  to  work 
with  I" 

It  was  a  treat  to  have  Mr.  James  in  the  house.  His 
keen  interest  in  everything,  his  utter  absence  of  "  side," 
the  exquisite  urbanity  which  tempered  every  expression 
of  his  unerring  judgment  of  men  and  women;  above  all, 
his  amazing  humility  about  his  own  achievements,  made 
up  a  most  endearing  personality.  He  greatly  admired 
Marion  and  would  lure  me  on  to  talk  of  him  on  every 
opportunity.  We  all  felt  quite  poor  the  day  Henry  James 
left  the  Villa  I 

One  little  entertainment,  often  repeated  there,  was  a 
great  delight  to  stray  guests  who  happened  in.  This  was 
the  children's  Tarantella.  When  they  were  still  quite 
small  the  illustrious  Giacchino  (the  town  barber  who  was 
the  Tarantella  Impresario  and  the  chief  dancer  and  singer 
as  well)  was  sent  for  to  teach  the  quartette  all  the  intri- 
cacies of  the  graceful  ancient  dance,  as  well  as  a  whole 
repertoire  of  songs,  which  never  sounded  more  charm- 
ing than  from  their  pretty  mouths.  For  the  dancing  they 
had  the  costumes  of  the  country,  and  though  the  eldest 
boy  was  the  only  dark-eyed  child  in  the  family,  the  fair 
little  girls  looked  quite  their  best  in  the  bright  colours. 
In  the  dark,  panelled  dining-room,  with  it  background  of 
silver  in  oaken  presses,  and  the  windows  open  to  the  ter- 
race over  the  sea,  the  little  people,  going  through  the 

276 


LIFE   AT    VILLA    CRAWFORD 

intricate  figures  with  joyous  sprightliness,  made  a  picture 
worth  remembering. 

Among  those  who  sometimes  watched  it  with  us  were 
a  nice  old  English  General  and  his  wife  who  had  an  apart- 
ment in  a  neighbouring  villa.  There  they  had  little  garden 
parties  and  lawn  tennis,  and  we  used  to  be  much  amused 
by  the  General's  insisting  on  having  tea  and  boiling  the 
kettle  in  the  open  air  —  a  I'Anglaise,  in  spite  of  every 
obstacle.  Under  his  queerly  expressed  directions  the 
anxious  man-servant  would  build  a  tottering  erection  of 
stones  and  sticks,  and  get  black  in  the  face  with  trying  to 
blow  up  the  fire.  Once  he  brought  the  whole  thing  down 
on  himself,  and  his  peppery  master,  unable  to  restrain  his 
wrath,  cried,  in  what  I  believe  he  thought  was  Italian, 
"Oh  you  d — d  fool!     Tutto  e  tomhato!'' 

It  was  rather  embarrassing  sometimes  to  have  guests 
insist  on  "  showing  their  interest  in  the  lower  classes," 
as  they  were  pleased  to  put  it.  One  Englishman,  I  re- 
member, made  a  point  of  asking  friendly  questions  of  the 
contadini  on  the  road.  One  day,  when  he  was  out  with  my 
sister-in-law,  he  stopped  a  pretty  girl  and  —  with  an  ac- 
cent no  pen  can  render,  asked,  looking  her  straight  in 
the  eyes,  "  Quanti  bambini  avete  "  ("  How  many  children 
have  you?  ")  "  I?  "  she  shrieked,  "  I  am  not  married!  " 
If  Bessie  had  not  been  there  I  believe  she  would  have 
knifed  the  benevolent  gentleman. 

An  Irishman  named  Mulock,  a  brother-in-law  of  the 
Laureate,  Alfred  Austin,  told  us  he  had  exposed  himself 
In  a  similar  manner.  Walking  in  the  hills  he  had  met  an 
extremely  pretty  girl  carrying  a  lamb.    He  smiled  —  she 

277 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

smiled  back,  and  asked  him  if  he  would  not  buy  her 
*'  agnellino,"  which  she  was  taking  to  the  market.  "  lo 
no  compro  agnellino  —  ma  io  compro  voi !  "  was  his 
tactful  reply.  No  other  weapon  being  at  hand,  the  lamb 
was  instantly  hurled  in  his  face. 

One  can  quite  understand  the  temptation  of  stray 
bachelors  to  try  and  have  another  look  at  some  unusually 
pretty  face.  There  was  one  woman  who  used  to  come 
down  from  the  hills  carrying  oranges  to  the  Marina ;  I 
could  have  followed  her  for  miles  for  the  mere  pleasure 
of  watching  her  movements.  She  walked  like  a  goddess, 
her  superb  figure  swaying  rhythmically  as  she  balanced 
her  great  baskets  on  her  beautiful,  proud  head.  Generally 
this  habit,  begun  in  childhood,  of  carrying  weights  on  the 
head  presses  early  lines  on  the  brow,  but  this  woman's 
forehead  was  smooth  as  marble,  her  dark  eyes  calm  and 
commanding,  her  rich  colour  was  never  deepened  by  the 
feat  she  was  performing.  The  men  spoke  of  her  with 
something  like  awe  —  for  she  swept  down  those  rough 
roads  with  two  hundred  pounds'  weight  of  oranges  for  a 
crown!  I  never  saw  her  even  raise  her  arm  to  steady 
the  enormous  burden,  and,  except  that  the  white  column  of 
her  throat  was  held  rigid  as  marble,  there  was  nothing 
to  tell  that  the  load  was  not  one  of  flowers. 

I  have  lingered  too  long  with  my  beloved  Sorrentini ! 
It  is  time  to  pick  up  the  thread  of  the  closing  years  of 
my  wanderings. 


278 


XII 

THE   OUT-TRAIL 

In  Tyrol — Mary  Howitt  and  the  Dominican  Father  —  An  Ideal  Home  — 
The  Prince  Bishop's  Manor  House — Hansi  and  Llesel  —  Across  the 
World  Again!  —  Rio  Pictures  —  A  Monte  Video  Couple  —  A  Fragile 
Cargo  —  Good-bye,  Summer  —  The  Fozen  Straits  —  Antarctic  Cannibals 
—  The  Globe  Rainbow  —  A  Forgotten  Rock  —  Santiago,  the  "Paris  of 
South  America"  —  Wet  Lodgings  —  My  First  Earthquake — A  "Little 
Place"  in  Peru  —  A  Pretty  Quiverful  —  Chilean  Family  Life. 

I  WAS  obliged  to  leave  Rome,  in  the  spring  of  1884, 
on  account  of  my  eldest  boy's  health,  which  was 
causing  great  anxiety.  I  had  been  advised  to  take  him 
to  Tyrol,  and  thither  we  travelled  by  easy  stages,  leav- 
ing his  younger  brother  under  my  mother's  care  in 
Rome. 

There  were  some  heavy  clouds  on  my  horizon  when  I 
reached  Meran  in  May,  with  my  sick  child  and  his  nurse, 
dear  Soeur  Camille  of  the  Bon  Secours,  who  was  always 
sent  to  children's  cases  because  they  loved  her  on  sight  — 
as  indeed  most  people  did.  We  had  stayed  a  day  or  two  in 
Florence,  another  at  Botzen,  and  already  there  the  friend- 
liness of  the  country  had  made  itself  felt  and  the  clouds 
looked  less  dark.  On  reaching  Meran  we  were  greeted  by 
Miss  Howitt,  who  at  once  arranged  to  have  us  occupy  an 
independent  apartment  in  the  beautiful  house  she  had  built 
for  her  mother,  a  very  old  lady  now,  but  still  full  of  the 

279 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

life  and  charm  shown  in  her  literary  work  with  her  hus- 
band, who  had  died  some  five  years  before.  Who  does 
not  remember  gratefully  those  names,  "  William  and 
Mary  Howitt?  "  Some  of  their  books  had  been  almost 
life  companions  of  mine  and  had  done  for  me  what  they 
must  have  done  for  thousands  of  others  —  they  helped 
me  to  understand  and  value  "  Nature,  the  kind  old 
nurse,"  as  Longfellow  called  her,  and  to  live  so  that  I 
could  fall  back  on  her  for  consolation  when  human  beings 
failed  me,  as  we  all  fail  each  other  at  times. 

When  I  went  to  stay  in  Mrs.  Howitt's  house  in  Meran 
she  had  only  recently  become  a  Catholic,  and  she  told 
me  how  very  hard  it  had  been  for  her  to  lay  aside  her 
fierce  early  prejudices  when  conviction  came  to  her.  Her 
daughter  was  already  an  ardent  Catholic,  and  Mrs. 
Howitt  had  lived  so  constantly  on  the  spiritual  plane 
that  when  once  the  truths  of  Religion  were  laid  clearly 
before  her,  her  integrity  of  mind  made  it  impossible  not 
to  accept  them,  but  she  said  that  she  had  quite  a  battle 
with  herself  before  consenting  to  receive,  as  her  in- 
structor for  her  reception  into  the  Church,  a  Dominican 
Father  whom  her  daughter  had  selected  for  that  purpose. 
A  Dominican!  a  follower  of  him  who  was  called  the 
"  Hound  of  the  Lord,"  whose  emblem,  a  dog  carrying 
a  torch  in  its  mouth,  she  had  been  taught  to  regard  as 
a  symbol  of  ruthless  persecution !  The  very  habit,  in 
its  severe  black  and  white,  inspired  her  with  fear;  and 
all  this  aversion  was  perhaps  more  natural  to  Mrs. 
Howitt  than  to  persons  of  far  fiercer  Protestant  hatreds 
than  her  gentle  soul  could  ever  nourish,  because  she  was 

280 


THE   OUT-TRAIL 

born  and  brought  up  a  Quaker,  looking  upon  fighting  of 
any  kind  as  a  sin. 

It  took  her  some  time  to  "  forgive  "  St.  Dominic  for 
his  mighty  and  availing  championship  of  Truth  against 
error;  she  had  never  heard  of  his  gentleness  with  the 
sinner  in  the  midst  of  all  his  conflict  with  the  sin,  of  the 
eighty  thousand  whom  he  called  back  from  the  pit  of 
that  hideous,  bloody  Albigensian  heresy,  simply  by  his 
preaching  and  his  prayers  —  those  victories  of  the 
Rosary;  and  Dante's  description  of  him,  "  I'amoroso 
drudo  della  fede  cristiana,  II  santo  atleta,"  ^  roused  no 
echoing  admiration  In  her  heart. 

But  Mrs.  Howitt  told  me  that  all  prejudice  died  and 
illumination  came  with  the  first  visit  of  the  Domini- 
can monk.  His  earnestness  and  gentleness  —  for  gentle- 
ness is  a  great  Dominican  characteristic  —  won  her  at 
once,  and  I  never  saw  any  woman  happier  in  her  Religion 
than  this  dear  old  lady.  She  was  not  strong  enough  to 
go  out  to  church,  so  they  had  fitted  up  a  beautiful  chapel 
on  the  top  floor  of  the  house,  and  every  Sunday  morning 
at  eight  o'clock  Father  Paul,  from  the  neighbouring 
Benedictine  College,  came  to  say  Mass  for  the  house- 
hold. The  house  was  In  many  ways  like  a  Chapel,  all 
through.  There  was  no  affected  thrusting  forward  of 
religious  pictures,  yet  everywhere  something  spoke  of 
God  and  holy  things.  And  what  a  beautiful  house  it 
was,  all  panelled  with  the  rich  dark  wood  of  Tyrol,  full 
of  the  memorials  of  two  long  lifetimes  of  love  of  beauty 
and  goodness,  and  pervaded  with  the  delightful  atmos- 

^  Paradiso,  canto  XII. 
281 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

phere  that  hangs  only  round  happy  and  upright  people. 
Miss  Howitt  told  me  that  when  it  was  completed  she 
had  called  in  Father  Paul  to  bless  it,  and  that  to  his 
question  as  to  what  special  grace  he  should  ask  for  the 
house  and  its  inhabitants  she  had  replied,  "  That  all  who 
ever  dwell  here  may  be  of  07ie  mindy 

Meran  became  too  warm  for  us  in  the  beginning  of 
June  and  we  moved  down  into  the  Brixener  Thai,  leav- 
ing the  dear  Howitts  the  less  regretfully  because  they 
too  would  soon  take  flight  to  their  own  particular  sum- 
mer haunt,  in  the  heights  beyond  Toblach,  where  I  visited 
them  later  in  the  season.  Some  old  friends  who  owned 
a  chateau  near  Brixen,  Baron  and  Baroness  Schon- 
berg,  took  great  tn^uble  to  find  quarters  for  us  there, 
and  to  my  great  delight,  obtained  from  the  Prince  Bishop 
of  Brixen  permission  for  us  to  live  in  a  tiny  manor  house 
of  his  in  the  heart  of  the  woods  near  Vahrn,  about  an 
hour's  walk  from  Brixen.  The  Lindlhof  was  very 
ancient,  very  queer,  more  like  a  little  fortress  than  a 
house,  with  walls  six  feet  thick,  low  doorways  and 
enormous  fireplaces.  Its  garden  mounted  in  narrow 
terraces  to  the  church,  which  stood  on  an  eminence 
behind  it,  and  those  terraces  were  smothered  in  jessa- 
mine and  all  sorts  of  sweet,  old-fashioned  flowers  that 
seemed  to  have  gone  on  replanting  themselves  for  ages, 
for  I  could  not  make  out  that  anybody  ever  attempted  to 
tend  them. 

Two  retainers  of  the  Prince  Bishop  lived  on  the 
premises,  a  very  old  man  called  Hansi,  and  his  equally 
old  wife,  "Die  Liesel";    they  both  wore  the  Tyrolean 

282 


THE   OUT-TRAIL 

costume  and  lived  in  one  big  stone  room  on  the  ground 
floor,  a  room  so  German,  so  crammed  with  quaint 
properties  —  among  these  two  antique  spinning-wheels 
of  enchanting  design  —  and  withal  so  inviting  and 
picturesque  that  to  enter  it  was  like  walking  into  a 
page  of  the  "  Richter  Album."  It  only  wanted  the 
canary's  cage  in  the  window  and  the  lost  Princess  wan- 
dering in  at  the  door  to  make  the  rest  of  the  fairytale. 
Oh,  Jean  Paul  Richter,  "  may  the  Lord  make  your  bed  in 
Heaven  "  for  all  the  pure  happiness  you  brought  Into 
my  childhood! 

When,  with  Mr.  J.  I.  Stahlmann,  I  was  writing  "  The 
Golden  Rose  "  ^  (now  appearing  in  America),  I  had  to 
find  a  home  for  the  Prince  Bishop  of  the  story,  and  fixed 
upon  the  Lindlhof  and  its  surroundings.  The  little 
manor  house  only  lent  its  name  to  Uncle  Alexis'  much 
bigger  castle,  but  the  surroundings  are  all  accurately  de- 
scribed, and  I  must  refer  my  readers  to  "  The  Golden 
Rose  "  for  my  impressions  and  experiences  of  Tyrol. 
One  does  not  write  twice  about  what  one  loves  so  much! 

My  husband  had  brought  my  smallest  boy  to  me  from 
Rome  and  then  went  on  to  attend  to  many  affairs  in 
England.  We  were  to  have  a  year's  leave,  and  before 
it  had  expired  Hugh  would  receive  promotion  and  new 
marching  orders.  But  we  three,  with  little  Soeur  Camille 
for  a  fourth,  were  so  happy  at  Vahrn  that  for  once  I 
gave  little  thought  to  the  Immediate  future.  In  the 
autumn  we  rejoined  my  husband  in  England  and  went 
down  to  the  Devonshire  coast  for  the  winter. 

1  Dodd,  Mead  &  Co. 
283 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

That  was  my  first  introduction  to  Devonshire,  the  lazy, 
lovely  country  that  took  my  heart  then  and  has  held 
it  ever  since.  In  the  spring  we  got  our  orders  to  go  to 
Chile,  and  sailed  from  Liverpool  in  June,  having  left 
our  boys  at  school  in  Worcestershire,  and  otherwise  in 
the  care  of  Hugh's  sister  in  Bath.  They  were  quite 
little  yet.     Mothers  know  what  such  separations  mean. 

Summer  was  with  us  all  the  way  across  the  Atlantic, 
which  was  fortunate,  since  our  vessel,  the  good  old 
Cotopaxi,  was  carrying  back  a  load  of  copper  which  for 
some  reason  had  not  been  accepted  in  England;  to  avoid 
the  expense  of  packing  the  bars  regularly,  a  risky  task 
for  which  higher  wages  have  to  be  paid,  the  metal  had 
been  dumped  in  the  hold  pell-mell,  and  left  to  settle  it- 
self. It  "  settled  "  all  on  one  side,  and  for  the  whole 
six  weeks  of  the  voyage  we  listed  over  at  a  very  sharp 
angle.  By  the  time  we  were  set  on  shore  for  our  first 
day  off,  we  all  limped  in  the  queerest  way,  having  learnt 
to  keep  our  balance  only  by  listing  over  in  the  direction 
contrary  to  the  tilt  of  the  steamer.  The  first  long  run 
after  leaving  the  coast  of  Portugal  was  monotonous 
enough,  and  we  were  glad  indeed  to  sail  into  the  beauti- 
ful harbour  of  Rio  and  enjoy  the  sweets  of  terra  firma 
for  twenty-four  hours. 

The  scene  on  the  quay  was  a  novel  one  for  me  and 
full  of  rejoiceful  colour.  The  fruit  market  spread  itself 
all  over  the  pavement,  and  the  fruit  was  a  sight  to  see, 
even  for  eyes  accustomed  to  the  products  of  South  Italy. 
There  were  mountains  of  oranges  —  at  first  it  seemed  as 
if  the   square  was  paved  with  them;    everywhere  the 

284 


THE   OUI-TRAIL 

negro  women,  in  one  white  cotton  garment  for  their 
bodies,  gorgeous  scarlet  turbans  on  their  heads,  and  one 
or  two  (who  must  have  come  from  Bahia  further  up  on 
the  coast)  with  white  satin  slippers  on  their  bare  black 
feet,  chattered  and  quarrelled  and  tried  to  sell  us  scream- 
ing parrots  whose  brilliant  plumage  made  one's  eyes  ache 
under  that  down-beating,  merciless  sun.  Very  quickly 
we  found  our  way  to  a  cool  hotel  where  we  feasted  on 
"  shore  food  "  with  oranges  between  the  courses,  as  we 
nibble  salted  almonds  at  home.  On  each  of  the  little 
tables  was  a  dish  piled  high  with  the  fruit,  already  peeled^ 
"  a  la  Bresilienne  "  and  with  lumps  of  ice  packed  In 
between  the  translucent  topaz  spheres. 

In  the  afternoon  we  drove  out  to  the  suburb  in  the 
hills  which  is  the  real  residential  quarter  of  Rio,  and 
silently  drank  in  the  delights  of  the  moist  greenery, 
never  so  welcome  as  after  weeks  at  sea.  The  heat  was 
intense,  but  the  greenness  made  up  for  it  all,  and  I  came 
back  to  the  town  in  the  happiest  of  moods,  glad  to  sit 
still  and  watch  the  sunset  fires  die  in  a  moment  as  the 
swift  tropical  night  came  down,  to  be  glorified  later  by 
a  huge  full  moon  under  whose  flooding  silver  the  har- 
bour with  its  delicately  wooded  islands  looked  magically 
unreal  and  beautiful. 

Our  next  stopping  place  was  Monte  Video,  where 
we  lost  two  travelling  companions  who  had  been  a 
constant  source  of  amusement  to  me  till  then,  a  young 
Uruguayan  in  the  Diplomatic  Service,  and  his  wife.  They 
seemed  children  to  us,  but  they  had  two  of  their  own, 
having    been    married    four    years    earlier    when    their 

285 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

respective  ages  were  fifteen  and  nineteen.  The  little 
man  resented  any  references  to  age,  and  blustered  and 
laid  down  the  law  on  every  occasion  to  convince  himself 
that  he  was  grown  up ;  the  wife,  a  charming,  gentle  little 
creature  in  delicate  health,  used  to  watch  him  with  a 
melancholy  amusement  in  her  eyes.  She  had  grown  up 
to  and  far  beyond  him  —  maternity  is  a  searchingly 
ripening  process  —  and  had  learnt  early  not  to  contra- 
dict her  spouse,  who,  to  assert  his  lordship,  I  suppose, 
Invariably  addressed  her  in  strident  accents  as  "  Maria 
Teresa,  mi  Mujer!  "  whether  it  were  in  the  course  of 
a  heated  argument  (which  he  had  all  to  himself)  or 
to  offer  her  something  at  table.  Once  she  confided  to  me 
that  the  marriage  had  been  arranged  entirely  by  the  two 
families,  and  that,  although,  of  course,  she  had  nothing 
to  say  against  her  "  compaiiero,"  yet  it  was  hard  on  a 
girl  to  fling  her  into  matrimony  before  she  was  out  of 
short  skirts,  and  that  she  always  told  the  relations, 
"You  married  us  to  amuse  yourselves  —  you  wanted  to 
see  what  we  would  do !  " 

It  was  characteristic  of  the  strong  filial  feeling  in  the 
Latin  races  that  the  little  couple  had  Instantly  under- 
taken the  three  weeks'  journey  from  Europe,  leaving 
their  children  behind,  on  receipt  of  a  cablegram  inform- 
ing them  that  Fernando's  mother  was  dangerously  ill. 
There  had  never,  apparently,  been  much  chance  of  her 
living  until  their  arrival,  and  at  Monte  Video  they 
learnt  that  the  effort  had  been  In  vain.  The  poor  lady 
had  expired  some  days  earlier. 

After    touching    at    Buenos    Ayres    we   left    summer 

286 


THE    OUT-TRAIL 

behind  and  started  on  the  long  track  down  the  coast, 
the  weather  growing  colder  and  foggier  every  day,  so 
that  but  for  the  nature  of  the  new  deck  cargo  we  had 
taken  on,  we  should  have  forgotten  what  the  sunshine 
looked  like.  This  cargo  consisted  of  several  tons  of 
oranges,  for  which  a  low-walled  enclosure  had  been  put 
up  on  the  after  deck.  Like  our  tiresome  copper,  they 
were  pitched  in  loose,  and  the  space  was  filled  up  to  the 
edge  of  the  containing  boards,  a  height  of  between  three 
and  four  feet  from  the  deck.  From  the  fence  to  the 
stern  was  one  solid  flat  expanse  of  yellow  oranges,  and 
on  top  of  it  the  two  men  in  charge,  who  looked  like 
some  of  Stevenson's  "  Treasure  Island  "  pirates,  threw 
down  their  ponchos  at  night  and  slept  peacefully.  They 
were  supposed  to  keep  off  marauders,  but  many  a  steer- 
age passenger  crept  up  to  the  fence  in  the  dark  and 
carried  away  handfuls  of  the  fruit;  when  we  went  down- 
stairs to  our  meals  there  would  be  a  rush  of  little  feet 
overhead  —  the  steerage  children  making  haste  to  beg 
for  the  rotten  oranges  of  which  every  day  a  certain 
number  had  to  be  thrown  away,  the  men  spending  all 
their  daylight  hours  in  picking  out  whatever  had  "  gone 
squashy."  The  waste  was  pitiful  to  see,  and  the  whole 
system  presented  a  curiously  strong  contrast  to  the 
method  used  for  exporting  oranges  from  South  Italy. 
There,  every  orange  is  wrapped  in  paper  before  being 
laid  beside  its  fellow  in  a  strong  packing  case,  close 
enough  not  to  be  affected  by  movement  yet  not  so  as  to 
get  bruised  by  jamming.  The  girls  do  most  of  this  work 
of  packing  and  earn  a  good  deal  of  money  at  it. 

287 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

By  the  time  we  had  nosed  our  way  through  three  days 
of  dense  fog  and  turned  triumphantly  into  the  opening  of 
the  Straits,  the  orange  level  had  sunk  quite  a  foot,  but 
nobody  seemed  to  mind;  so  it  had  always  been  and  so 
it  would  always  be.  We  had  had  no  glimpse  of  sun  or 
stars  or  anything  indeed  beyond  the  vanishing  outlines 
of  our  own  masts,  when  suddenly  the  fog  lifted  and  Cape 
Virgenes  rose  clear  to  our  right  and  the  northernmost 
point  of  Tierra  del  Fuego  on  our  left.  It  is  not  an 
easy  corner  to  turn  at  the  best  of  times,  and  we  had  come 
down  the  treacherous  coast  at  a  quarter  speed,  taking 
soundings  every  few  minutes.  "  When  you  can't  see 
the  top  you  must  feel  the  bottom,"  said  Captain  Hayes, 
who  was  frankly  delighted  with  having  done  the  thing 
so  neatly.  Many  a  wreck  lies  strewn  along  the  coast 
and  on  the  cruel  shores  of  the  Straits;  one  after  another 
was  pointed  out  to  me  as  we  went  through  and  I  was 
told  that  the  shipwrecked  beings  who  had  come  to  grief 
on  the  mainland  were  the  fortunate  ones;  those  whose 
vessels  struck  the  other  side  met  a  dreadful  end  if  they 
were  cast  up  alive,  for  the  Fuegians  are  still  cannibals, 
a  fact  which  did  not  make  me  regard  them  with  pleasure 
when  they  came  swarming  round  the  steamer  in  open 
boats,  great  brown  men,  naked,  in  spite  of  the  punishing 
cold,  trying  to  barter  furs  for  provisions. 

The  cold  was  frightful;  I  had  never  imagined  any- 
thing like  it.  The  steamer  was  heated  with  stoves 
below  stairs,  and  in  the  daytime  we  huddled  round  them, 
rushing  up  on  deck  to  look  at  the  scenery  and  flying 
down  again  two  minutes  afterwards  to  thaw  our  hands 

288 


THE    OUT-TRAIL 

and  feet.  At  night  everything  seemed  to  turn  to  Ice 
—  there  was  no  getting  warm  at  all.  But  the  scenery 
was  strangely  impressive,  in  its  deathly,  frozen  beauty, 
and  although  my  heart  sank  at  the  thought  that  I  must 
pass  this  way  once  more  to  get  home,  I  was  glad  that  I 
had  seen  it.  To  southerners,  like  myself,  there  is  some- 
thing peculiarly  terrifying  in  these  polar  regions  with 
their  ice  that  will  never  melt,  their  alien  stars  and  white 
skies  where  the  sun  himself  seems  frightened  to  an  un- 
warming  pallor.  Should  one  have  to  die  there  it  seems 
as  if  the  shivering  soul  would  have  a  long  way  to  go  to 
find  the  gate  of  Heaven.  Yet  these  cruel  Straits  of 
Magellan,  with  their  intricate  twists  and  all  but  land- 
locked lagoons  bear  a  whimsical  resemblance  to  the  warm, 
dreamy  Inland  Sea  of  Japan.  In  one  as  In  the  other  the 
passage  is  so  narrow  at  times  that  you  think  you  could 
almost  touch  the  rocks  on  either  hand,  and  the  cold 
lagoons  of  the  "  Magallanes  "  with  glaciers  losing  them- 
selves in  the  Icy  water,  might  once  have  been  those  of 
the  Inland  Sea,  fringed  with  woods,  studded  with  Islets, 
had  the  doom  of  ice  descended  on  Dai  Nippon  instead 
of  on  Patagonia. 

One  marvel  I  saw  there  which  Japan  could  never 
show.  After  we  emerged  from  the  Straits  we  beheld, 
far  to  the  south  of  us,  a  single  great  cone  of  Ice  rising 
sheer  from  the  dark  blue  of  the  Pacific;  on  Its  pointed 
summit  rested  a  perfect  sphere,  like  a  gigantic  ball,  its 
entire  surface  one  rainbow  whose  tints  overflowed, 
fused,  melted  Into  one  another  and  then  defined  them- 
selves  Into   the   mystic   seven,    the   whole   glowing   and 

289 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

quivering  with  some  light  from  within,  of  a  glory  that 
defies  description.  It  seemed  a  chalice  of  fluid  pearl, 
filled  with  wine  of  rose  and  amber  and  amethyst  and 
ruby,  of  vintages  culled  among  the  stars,  held  up  for  the 
sun  to  drink. 

Coming  out  from  the  smooth  water  of  the  Straits,  the 
Pacific  hurled  its  breakers  very  disturbingly  against  our 
lopsided  vessel,  and,  with  all  the  courage  of  ignorance 
and  the  audacity  engendered  by  the  approaches  of  sea- 
sickness, many  of  the  passengers  besought  Captain  Hayes 
to  take  us  up  through  Smith's  Channel,  but  the  Skipper 
was  obdurate.  "  No  Sirree,"  not  for  him  that  unsur- 
veyed  though  peaceful  waste  of  needle  rocks  and  un- 
sounded depths.  He  had  had  already  one  adventure 
of  which  he  told  me  with  suppressed  fury  —  for  no 
shadow  of  blame  could  attach  to  him  for  the  accident  and 
it  had  robbed  him  of  half  a  year's  pay.  On  a  former 
trip  through  the  Straits  of  Magellan  his  ship  had  struck 
a  rock,  sharp  as  a  needle,  where  the  chart  proclaimed 
twenty  fathoms  of  water.  It  cut  a  great  hole  in  her  side  as 
cleanly  as  buttonhole  scissors  nip  out  a  fragment  of  linen. 
But  in  those  days  a  sober  ocean  liner  would  have  scorned 
to  fill  and  go  to  the  bottom  because  of  a  scurvy  hole  in 
her  side.  The  ten-foot  aperture  was  stopped,  mended, 
caulked,  all  in  an  Incredibly  short  time,  and  had  the  Cap- 
tain had  a  little  paint  and  a  friendly  dry  dock  to  fly  to,  no 
one  at  home  would  ever  have  been  the  wiser.  iVs  it  was, 
he  had  to  steam  into  Liverpool  with  that  tell-tale  mark 
on  the  CotopaxVs  weatherbeaten  cheek,  and  walk  up  to 
the  Directors'  office  to  report. 

290 


THE   OUT-TRAIL 

Not  long  before  that  the  amiable  Directors  had  made 
a  change  in  their  method  of  paying  salaries.  The  half 
of  every  officer's  pay  was  to  be  kept  back  until  the  end 
of  the  year,  and  only  given  to  him  then  if  no  accident  had 
happened  to  the  ship  during  his  watch.  As  the  Captain, 
by  some  effort  of  the  Directors'  imagination,  is  sup- 
posed to  share  every  watch,  he,  poor  man,  is  docked 
of  his  half  year's  pay  in  any  case.  If  all  goes  well,  the 
six  months'  dues  are  presented  to  him  as  a  "  bonus  "  — 
as  Alice's  own  thimble  was  presented  to  her  in  Wonder- 
land—  and  he  is  expected  to  express  his  appreciation 
and  gratitude. 

This  time,  as  the  Captain  made  his  bow  to  the  auto- 
crats round  the  green  table,  he  knew  just  what  to  expect. 
The  Agent  had  informed  them  already  of  the  scar  on 
the  ship's  side.  But  what  did  take  the  Captain  by  sur- 
prise was  this.  When  he  told  them  precisely  where  the 
traitor  needle  of  rock  had  risen  up,  as  rocks  do  in  those 
volcanic  regions,  with  comparative  suddenness,  they  told 
him,  without  the  slightest  appearance  of  regret  or  shame, 
that  they  had  been  informed  of  the  new  obstacle  and  had 
forgotten  to  have  it  marked  on  the  Cotopaxi's  chart. 
What  was  there  for  them  to  regret,  after  all?  Six  months 
of  a  good  and  true  man's  pay  could  be  —  and  was  — 
stolen  from  him,  to  return  to  the  pocket  of  the  Company. 

It  sounds  un-English,  does  it  not?  But  some  queer 
things  happen  in  English  business  offices. 

Years  later,  when  we  had  returned  to  Europe,  Smith's 
Channel  was  surveyed  and  steamers  instructed  to  take 
that  route.     The  good  ship  Cotopaxi  went  to  pieces  on 

291 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

Its  horrible  sunken  rocks,  and  I  was  told  that  Captain 
Hayes  lost  his  job.  If  so,  the  Company  lost  In  him  one 
of  the  finest,  stralghtest,  and  most  experienced  skippers 
who  ever  put  to  sea. 

Few  travellers,  I  fancy,  go  to  Chile  by  the  long  sea 
route  now  that  the  railway  runs  across  the  continent 
from  Argentina.  The  undertaking  was  an  enormously 
costly  one  and  for  many  years  seemed  unlikely  to  be 
carried  out,  not  only  on  that  account  but  because  of  its 
unpopularity  In  Chile.  The  Chllenos  regarded  the  Re- 
publics on  the  other  side  of  the  mountains  as  undesirable 
neighbours  and  I  have  heard  pious  people  In  Santiago 
say  that  to  connect  themselves  with  those  ungodly  coun- 
tries by  a  railway  was  like  flying  in  the  face  of  Providence, 
by  whose  clemency  the  Impassable  barrier  of  the  Andes 
had  been  so  clearly  Intended  to  keep  Chile  from  the 
contamination  of  Intercourse  with  the  other  coast.  The 
Chllenos  considered  themselves  Immeasurably  In  ad- 
vance of  all  the  other  South  American  Republics  In 
civilisation  and  virtue,  a  piece  of  conceit  which  might 
perhaps  be  pardoned  in  consideration  of  the  fact  that 
the  only  one  they  knew  at  all  well  was  Peru. 

There  were  some  pleasant  Santiago  people  on  board 
the  Cotopaxi,  Madame  Vergara,  and  her  daughter  who 
had  just  been  married  to  Senor  Errazuriz.  The  party 
was  returning  from  Paris,  where  the  wedding  had  taken 
place,  and  although  they  represented  Santiago  to  me  as 
everything  delightful,  I  could  see  that  Madame  Vergara 
was  coming  back  rather  regretfully  and  that  Paris,  not 
Santiago,    held   the   first   place   In   her   affections,    as   it 

292 


THE   OUT-TRAIL 

seemed  to  do  in  those  of  all  the  Chilenos  I  met  after- 
wards who  had  spent  any  time  there.  They  had  christ- 
ened their  queer  unfinished  capital,  five  thousand  feet 
above  the  sea,  in  a  desolate,  sandy  plain,  "  The  Paris 
of  South  America,"  but  when  the  mines  were  working 
well  and  the  haciendas  producing  satisfactorily  they  flew 
off  to  the  real  Paris,  where,  in  spite  of  the  gulf  separating 
French  taste  and  ways  of  living  from  their  own,  there 
is  a  large  and  more  or  less  permanent  colony  of  rich 
South  Americans.  I  am  sure  the  worldly  ones  at  home 
hope  to  go  there  when  they  die ! 

The  approach  to  Valparaiso  is  so  forbidding  that  it 
is  difficult  to  understand  how  it  filched  the  name  —  "  The 
Vale  of  Paradise."  Seen  from  the  sea,  rows  of  ugly 
red-roofed  warehouses  greet  the  newcomer;  not  a  tree 
is  to  be  seen;  the  landscape  consists  of  arid  bluffs  at  the 
feet  of  which  lies  a  long,  untidy  port  town  without  a  single 
beauty  to  recommend  it.  The  impression  was  so  for- 
lornly discouraging  that  I  remember  turning  to  Captain 
Hayes,  who  was  standing  beside  me  on  deck,  and  telling 
him  that  if  he  would  but  put  to  sea  again  I  would  go  back 
to  Europe  without  landing.  The  desire  to  run  away  was 
almost  overpowering. 

A  few  minutes  later  we  were  taken  off  by  a  govern- 
ment oflicial  who  had  been  sent  to  meet  and  welcome 
us,  a  dreary,  morose-looking  man  in  a  cocked  hat  and 
white  gloves.  He  seemed  to  regard  us  as  "  his  cross," 
as  the  maidservant  in  Punch  told  her  mistress  she  had 
been  advised  to  look  upon  her  —  and  was  evidently 
much  relieved  when  we  were  claimed  and  carried  off  by 

293 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

Drummond  Hay,  our  own  Consul,  who  entertained  us 
most  pleasantly  till  the  hour  when  we  could  take  the  train 
to  Santiago.  Drummond  Hay  was  one  of  those  brilliant, 
self-willed,  naturally  dominant  but  hot-headed  men  whom 
the  weary  officials  at  the  Foreign  Office  find  hard  to  place 
and  hard  to  manage.  He  had  some  Burton  elements  in 
him,  but,  falling  short  of  that  illustrious  autocrat's  intel- 
lect and  constancy,  had  in  the  earlier  part  of  his  career 
got  into  one  or  two  scrapes  —  of  a  quite  honourable  kind, 
be  it  said  —  and  instead  of  rising  high  in  Diplomacy 
as  he  should  have  done,  found  himself  relegated  in 
middle  age  to  a  Consulship  on  the  West  Coast  of  South 
America.  That  was  all  gain  for  us,  for  he  was  a  delight- 
ful companion  and  knew  a  great  deal  about  the  country 
—  in  fact  he  was  the  only  Englishman  there  who  could 
look  at  things  from  our  own  point  of  view.  I  think  he 
had  not  hit  it  off  very  well  with  our  predecessor,  Paken- 
ham,  and  hailed  the  change.  We  were  to  live  six 
hours  away  from  Valparaiso  where  he  was  stationed, 
but  the  sense  of  comradeship  covered  that  distance 
easily. 

We  left  by  an  afternoon  train  and  before  night  fell  I 
had  got  a  fair  idea  of  the  outer  aspect  of  the  country, 
Its  loneliness  and  dryness,  the  poverty  of  the  lower 
classes  living  in  sparsely-scattered  mud  houses  between 
fields  of  dried  mud  and  stretches  of  drier  sand.  The 
road  mounted  all  the  way,  sometimes  at  an  alarming 
angle;  it  was  a  single  track,  and  so  crazily  built  that  a 
dozen  times  it  seemed  as  if  the  wheels  had  jumped  off 
the  loosely-laid  rails.     Where  the  river  comes  rushing 

294 


THE   OUT-TRAIL 

down  through  the  gorges  there  was  a  very  shaky  bridge 
to  cross  and  various  precipices  to  skirt.  We  learnt  later 
that  the  contractor,  I  think  an  Englishman,  had  in  many 
places  laid  the  ties  across  bags  of  sand  with  a  light  layer 
of  earth  on  top,  a  fact  which  accounted  for  the  frequent 
breakdowns  all  along  the  line.  The  earthquakes  helped 
nicely  to  shake  things  up,  and  altogether  one  was  always 
surprised  and  relieved  to  reach  the  appointed  destina- 
tion within  two  hours  or  so  of  schedule  time. 

We  had  struck  Santiago  in  the  depth  of  the  Antipo- 
dean winter,  and  the  cold  —  in  the  houses  —  was  intense. 
The  Pakenhams  insisted  on  our  staying  with  them  for  the 
first  two  or  three  days,  a  great  kindness  on  their  part, 
as  they  were  in  the  last  throes  of  preparation  for  de- 
parture. But  even  their  cordiality  could  not  warm  the 
rambling  rooms  built  round  open  patios  which  had  to  be 
crossed  twenty  times  a  day;  the  French  window  doors 
admitting  icy  breaths  whenever  they  were  opened,  the 
absence  of  heating  apparatus,  all  this  made  existence  an 
uninterrupted  succession  of  shivers  and  chills.  Hugh  and 
I  decided  that  we  would  not  live  in  a  patio  house  if  it 
were  possible  to  avoid  it.  The  attractive  feature  of  the 
Pakenham's  residence  was  its  large,  rambling  garden, 
round  which  Mr.  Pakenham  showed  us,  pausing  to  point 
out  with  much  glee  a  charcoal  portrait  of  himself  on  the 
plaster  back  wall  of  an  out-building.  The  sketch  was 
bold,  indeed,  but  quite  recognisable.  "  Do  you  see  that?  " 
he  chuckled,  *' the  under  footman  did  it  —  the  young 
rascal !  He  thinks  I  have  never  discovered  it  —  clever, 
isn't  it?" 

295 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

"  What  are  you  supposed  to  be  putting  into  your 
mouth?  "  I  inquired. 

"That?  Oh,  that  is  a  box  of  HoUoway's  pills  —  my 
favourite  medicine.  I  always  carry  them  about  with  me, 
and  the  servants  believe  I  swallow  box  and  all!  " 

Mr.  Pakenham  had  been  Hugh's  senior  in  the  old, 
old  days  in  Copenhagen,  and  only  a  few  years  ago  I  found 
a  packet  of  letters  addressed  to  my  husband  in  Guate- 
mala, full  of  the  social  gossip  which  a  forlorn  young 
exile  would  most  want  to  hear,  —  such  bright,  amusing 
letters  and  withal  so  voluminous  that  they  did  great 
credit  to  the  heart  of  the  older  man  who,  in  the  midst 
of  many  duties  and  gaieties,  made  time  to  write  them 
to  cheer  up  an  absent  friend.  There  were  other 
Copenhagen  letters  with  them  —  one  from  a  prom- 
ising young  ornament  of  British  Diplomacy,  a  recently 
joined  attache,  presumably  nineteen  or  twenty  years  old, 
who  had  just  fallen  In  love  with  Mrs.  Somebody,  "  a 
divine  creature  —  with  eyes  like  melting  plumbs.'''* 
There  was  no  competitive  examination  for  the  Service 
In  those  days. 

The  Pakenhams'  departure  was  close  at  hand  and  we 
removed  ourselves  to  the  hotel,  where  we  had  to  stay 
some  weeks  before  we  could  find  a  lodging  to  our  liking. 
The  winter  rains  had  now  begun  —  It  never  rains  at  any 
other  season  in  the  north  of  Chile  —  and  the  cold  was 
persistent  and  piercing.  So  was  the  rain.  In  order  to 
accommodate  archltcture  to  earthquakes,  the  houses  In 
Santiago  are  built  up  for  only  a  few  feet  from  the  ground 
in  brick,  the  entire  superstructure  being  carried  out  In. 

296 


THE    OUT-TRAIL 

adobe,  a  rough  mixture  of  mud  and  straw,  with  an  iron 
framework  to  support  It.  This  combination  Is  elastic 
and  rarely  suffers  much  from  the  "  temblores  "  which  so 
constantly  visit  the  place;  but  neither  does  It  offer  much 
resistance  to  the  rain,  which  falls  for  about  two  months 
with  such  tropical  copiousness  that  it  washes  holes  for 
itself  In  the  light  roofs  and  flimsy  walls,  and  pours  as 
steadily  into  the  buckets  in  one's  drawing-room  as  into 
the  gutters  in  the  street  outside.  At  the  hotel  I  often 
had  to  sleep  under  an  open  umbrella,  which  did  not  pre- 
vent my  waking  up  in  a  swamp  of  wet  blankets  in  the 
morning.  And  the  rain  feels  as  if  it  had  all  come  down 
from  the  top  of  Aconcagua's  everlasting  snows,  over  there 
to  the  northeast  of  the  city  that  lies  In  the  vast  sand- 
plain  table-land,  from  which  the  hills  rise  so  gradually 
towards  Aconcagua  that  It  Is  hard  to  realise  the  22,000 
feet  of  the  dead  volcano's  towering  height. 

Santiago  has  as  many  aspects  as  a  capricious  pretty 
woman.  The  little  city  Is  intersected  from  one  end  to 
the  other  by  a  noble  Alameda  or  elm-avenue,  the  trees 
standing.  In  double  rows,  on  either  side.  The  centre  Is 
occupied  by  the  tram  lines;  between  the  trees  are  stone 
channels  where  apparently  clear  streams  of  water  rush 
and  gurgle  refreshingly;  beyond  the  trees,  on  either  side, 
runs  the  ordinary  carriage  road,  with  broad  pavements, 
and  the  houses  are  for  the  most  part  of  a  fair  size  and 
showy  with  stucco,  for  this  is  the  most  fashionable  resi- 
dential quarter. 

At  the  far  northern  end  of  the  Alameda  stands  the 
old  citadel  of  Santa  Lucia,  now  a  well  planted  prome- 

297 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

nade  —  steep  and  spiral,  it  is  true,  but  gay  with  pepper 
trees  whose  scarlet  berries  and  dainty  foliage  recall  our 
mountain  ash.  The  flower  and  the  berry  both  give 
out  a  pleasantly  pungent  perfume.  From  the  summit 
of  Santa  Lucia  you  see  the  whole  city  and  understand 
its  plan.  The  side  streets  cross  the  Alameda  at  regular 
intervals,  the  one  leading  to  the  Plaza  de  Armas  being 
broad  and  well  kept  because  it  is  one  of  the  four  which, 
branching  out  like  a  cross  from  the  central  square,  con- 
stitute what  is  called  the  "  Commercio,"  the  quarter  of 
smart  shops  and  cafes,  the  only  "  paseo  "  or  promenade 
patronised  by  pleasure  seekers,  who,  in  their  best  clothes, 
walk  up  and  down  there  in  the  evenings,  listening  to  the 
band  which  plays  in  the  Plaza. 

The  latter  is  dominated  by  the  Cathedral,  an  imposing 
building  with  two  low  towers.  Santiago  possesses  the 
great  Cathedral  altogether  by  mistake,  for  the  plans, 
sent  out  from  Spain  when  she  governed  all  the  western 
half  of  South  America,  got  mixed  up  in  Madrid,  and  the 
one  designed  for  the  City  of  Mexico  found  its  way  to 
Santiago,  for  which  place  a  much  more  modest  design 
had  been  selected.  Methods  of  communication  being 
then  in  their  infancy,  the  error  was  not  discovered  till 
the  Santiago  Cathedral  was  almost  completed,  the  two 
unfinished  towers  only  testifying  to  the  home  govern- 
ment's disapproval  and  consequent  withholding  of  further 
funds.  It  struck  one  as  strange  that  the  authorities  should 
have  consented  to  the  erection  of  a  huge,  double-towered, 
stone  building  in  a  country  where  seismic  disturbances 
are  so  frequent  and  violent,  but  the  Santiago  people  were 

298 


THE   OUT-TRAIL 

shocked  when  I  suggested  this;  the  earthquake  of  thirty 
years  before  had  destroyed  numbers  of  the  light,  elastic 
dwelling  houses,  but  Heaven  had  of  course  always  taken 
care  of  its  own  property,  and  the  Cathedral  had  not 
suffered. 

My  first  experience  of  earthquake  (except  a  very 
slight  one  in  Tuscany  many  years  before)  came  while 
we  were  still  at  the  hotel,  and  was  sickeningly  severe. 
I  use  the  adjective  advisedly,  for  the  horrible  heaving 
and  rocking  produces  a  sensation  of  seasickness  strong 
enough  to  be  felt  through  all  the  physical  terror  which 
accompanies  it.  As  time  went  on,  however,  I  grew  less 
apprehensive  of  the  Chilean  "temblores";  the  frequent 
shocks  seemed  to  do  no  particular  damage,  and  it  was 
not  until  I  went  to  Japan  that  the  real  horrors  of  earth- 
quake were  revealed  to  me.  The  Chileans  distinguish 
carefully  between  the  usual  quakings,  which  they  call 
"  temblores,"  and  the  cataclysm  which  will  engulf  a  city 
in  a  moment,  and  which  they  designate  "  terremoto  " 
as  the  Italians  do.  On  the  whole,  Chile  comes  off  lightly 
as  compared  with  poor  Peru,  and  its  much  shaken  capi- 
tal, Lima;  there  the  tidal  wave  is  the  invariable  ac- 
companiment of  violent  earthquake,  and  what  these  ter- 
rific collaborators  can  accomplish  in  the  way  of  destruc- 
tion is  so  awful  to  contemplate  that  one  wonders  how 
human  beings  have  the  courage  to  live  where  such  doom 
may  fall  upon  them  at  any  moment.  Doubtless  it  Is  the 
marvellous  richness  of  the  country  that  charms  appre- 
hension away.  An  Englishman  who  was  staying  In 
Santiago  to  press  his  claims  for  Indemnity  for  damages 

299 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

after  the  war,  and  of  whom  we  saw  a  great  deal,  gave 
me  a  wonderful  description  of  his  Peruvian  property,  an 
estate  sixty  miles  in  length,  teeming  with  all  the  precious 
products.  It  began  in  the  plains  and  ended  in  the  hills, 
so  that,  as  he  said,  he  never  needed  to  go  off  his  own  land 
for  a  change  of  climate.  The  higher  parts  of  the  land, 
although  in  such  a  tropical  region,  produced  many  of 
the  fruits  of  more  temperate  zones,  while  the  remainder 
gave  rich  harvests  of  those  necessaries  of  life  which  will 
only  come  to  perfection  under  the  sun  that  slays  unwary 
white  people.  With  all  this  it  seemed  as  if  our  friend 
should  have  been  a  very  rich  man,  but  he  declared  that 
he  was  a  very  poor  one.  The  wretched  conditions  pre- 
vailing In  Peru,  the  endless  setbacks  caused  by  the  war, 
the  difficulty  of  procuring  labour,  and,  above  all,  the 
depreciation  of  the  currency,  had  half  ruined  him  and 
others  like  him. 

Mr.  Williams  had  married  a  lady  of  the  country  and 
was  much  exercised  as  to  the  establishing  of  his  daugh- 
ters in  such  evil  times.  He  had  nine,  and  he  presented 
me  with  their  portraits  —  such  a  gallery  of  prettiness  as 
seldom  falls  to  the  lot  of  one  family.  From  Elisa  down 
through  the  long  scale  —  Eleonora,  Isabella,  Matilda, 
Dolores,  Margherita,  Luzesita,  —  and  their  names  were 
as  pretty  as  their  faces  —  the  perfect  South  American 
type  of  girlhood  in  its  bright-eyed  innocence  and  health, 
reigned  in  all.  It  ages  early,  but  in  its  young  perfec- 
tion it  has  no  rival  in  the  old  world.  The  dainty  head, 
fair  or  dark,  is  held  high,  the  eyes,  of  a  clearness  and 
brilliancy  like  their  own  skies,  smile  confidently  out  on 

300 


Frrm  a  pli.itograph 


MR.    HUGH  FRASER 


THE    OUT-TRAIL 

an  alluring  world.  The  pure,  glowing  colouring  and  the 
full  yet  slender  lines  of  the  figure  tell  of  uncontaminated 
health;  grace  and  charm  speak  in  the  whole  personality; 
and,  with  all  its  spirit  and  "  vim,"  It  Is  a  personality 
so  gentle,  so  truly  feminine,  that  one  cannot  wonder 
at  the  spell  It  casts  over  the  hearts  of  men  born  in 
sterner  climes,  where  women  are  trained  to  repress  the 
manifestation  of  "  femininity "  as  something  to  be 
ashamed  of. 

Few  of  those  South  American  girls  are  highly  intel- 
lectual —  or  they  would  not,  as  married  women,  have 
such  enormous  families;  brain  and  body  are  rarely 
prolific  together.  But  they  are  exceedingly  Intelligent  in 
all  that  comes  within  their  sphere,  and  there  are  few  coun- 
tries where  the  woman's  sphere  is  so  well  defined  and 
so  Inviolate  as  It  Is  in  Chile.  All  that  regards  the  home 
and  the  bringing  up  of  the  children  is  left  to  her  unques- 
tioned judgment,  and  very  well  does  she  fulfil  her  re- 
sponsibilities. There  Is,  except  for  the  "  Mundanas," 
the  would-be  fashionables  who  ape  European  ways,  no 
social  life  beyond  the  circle  of  relationship  and  Intimate 
friendship.  The  short  "  season  "  as  it  is  called,  brings 
little  change  into  the  existence  of  an  ordinary  well- 
regulated  family.  In  summer  as  in  winter  there  Is  much 
unceremonious  evening  visiting.  The  young  people 
dance  to  their  heart's  content  in  their  day  clothes,  while 
somebody  strums  the  piano  for  them. 

Each  family  supplies  what  the  Chilean  woman  cannot 
live  without,  plenty  of  company,  for  married  sons  and 
daughters  almost  always  live  In  the  paternal  house  of 

301 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

one  party  or  the  other.  There  the  long  line  of  the 
third  generation  are  born  and  grow  up,  and  there,  too, 
stray  aunts  or  cousins,  and  much  more  distant  female 
relations  are  taken  in  and  provided  for.  It  seems  to  be  a 
matter  of  pride  with  a  man  to  look  after  the  women  of  his 
own  or  his  wife's  family,  and  the  traditions  of  the 
country,  the  old  Spanish  traditions,  make  it  practically  im- 
perative that  he  should  do  so,  it  being  (at  least  when  I 
was  in  Chile)  an  unheard-of  thing  that  a  gentlewoman 
should  be  allowed  to  earn  her  own  living. 

To  the  general  run  of  Englishmen  it  would  be  acute 
discomfort  to  live  with  a  house  full  of  females  of  vary- 
ing ages,  all  talkative  and  most  of  the  time  all  talking  at 
once.  But  the  Chileno's  nerves  are  not  in  the  least  dis- 
turbed by  it.  Through  most  of  his  life  he  has  a  business 
or  profession  to  attend  to  and  is  absent  the  greater 
part  of  the  day.  When  he  is  at  home,  his  womenkind, 
who,  being  only  human,  occasionally  quarrel  in  his 
absence,  sink  their  disagreements  and  vie  with  one 
another  in  their  attentions  to  him.  On  great  matters  his 
word  is  supreme,  and  nobody  would  dream  of  troubling 
him  with  little  ones.  Being  a  South  American,  he  is  gre- 
garious and  easily  amused,  and  would  look  upon  a  silent 
house  and  a  taciturn  family  as  the  worst  of  trials.  Alto- 
gether I  think  his  lot  is  rather  to  be  envied  by  the  average 
European  head  of  a  family. 

It  took  me  a  long  time  to  find  all  this  out.  My  first 
impressions  of  people  and  things  were  rather  vague  and 
puzzling,  and  I  think  I  was  inclined  to  be  amused,  per- 
haps flippantly  so,  by  manners  and  customs  which  later 

302 


THE   OUT-TRAIL 

drew  from  me  only  respect.  There  were  contradictons 
which  seemed  InexpHcable  at  the  start.  A  government 
in  open  quarrel  with  the  Church,  a  President  —  Santa 
Maria  —  for  whom  no  one  expressed  anything  but  de- 
testation ;  a  House  of  Representatives  eternally  trying 
to  pass  laws  not  only  unpopular,  but  impious ;  and  a  great, 
fairly  intelligent  community  of  devout,  orderly  Christians 
combating  the  authorities  they  must  have  at  least  allowed 
to  come  into  power,  storming  Heaven  to  give  them  better 
rulers,  and  fighting  the  actual  ones  with  unremitting  cour- 
age and  constancy.  It  was  all  very  difficult  to  grasp  and 
reconcile.  Only  when  Santa  Maria  went  out  and  his 
successor,  Balmaceda,  came  In,  did  I  see  the  difference 
between  the  candidate  aspiring  to  place  —  promising 
all  things,  conciliating  all  classes,  and  the  candidate 
successful  —  cynically  repudiating  his  own  glowing 
speeches,  and  throwing  overboard  the  very  men  who  had 
helped  him  to  power,  If  their  views  did  not  fit  In  with 
his  own.  In  both  cases  the  government  was  entirely  out 
of  sympathy  with  the  mass  of  the  people,  and  much  evil 
and  suffering  was  the  result. 

No  government,  however  fiercely  anti-Catholic  it 
might  be,  could  alienate  the  real  Chileans  from  the 
Church.  The  life  of  the  people  is  bound  up  with  it, 
and  even  where  the  men  of  the  family  were  Its  enemies, 
the  women  were  faithful,  the  girls  were  sent  to  con- 
vents for  their  education,  the  boys.  In  almost  every  case, 
to  the  ecclesiastics'  schools.  The  aggressive  liberal 
abroad  became  the  anxious  head  of  the  family  at  home, 
acknowledging    the    fact   that   only    Catholic   principles 

303 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

could  make  his  children  filial  and  obedient  and  keep 
their  mother  devoted  to  them  and  to  him.  Balmaceda, 
a  professed  atheist,  took  his  little  girls  to  the  convent 
himself  and  handed  them  over  to  the  surprised  Mother 
Superior,  saying,  "Make  good  Christians  of  them  — 
that  is  all  I  ask!  " 


304 


XIII 

PURELY   DOMESTIC 

A  Mistake  and  Its  Consequences  —  My  Heavy  Handful  —  The  Grocer's  As- 
sistant—  Scandal  and  Compromise  —  Revelations  of  the  Ice-chest  —  A 
Conquering  Substitute  —  A  Painful  Interview  —  "Them  Jams,  Ma- 
dam!"—  The  Disappearance  of  Juan  —  A  Sympathetic  Inspector — A 
Good  Friday  Misadventure  —  "  Muffins!  "  —  Clara's  Irish  Lover. 

WHEN  we  left  England  we  took  with  us  three 
English  servants  —  a  butler,  a  cook,  and  my 
maid  Clara.  Somehow  or  other  —  from  Hugh's  experi- 
ences in  Central  America,  I  fancy  —  we  got  the  impres- 
sion that  native  servants  were  very  unreliable  and,  con- 
sequently, we  thought  it  well  to  buttress  the  domestic 
arrangements  with  something  we  could  count  upon.  It 
was  a  mistake  which,  under  similar  circumstances,  we 
should  not  have  been  likely  to  make  again.  The  ex- 
pense was  terribly  heavy  and  the  wages  were  out  of 
all  proportion  to  the  resultant  benefits.  Personally,  I 
would  have  preferred  to  have  taken  chances  about  the 
butler  and  the  cook,  but  Hugh  was  firm.  He  would  have 
one  respectable  man-servant  on  the  place,  he  said,  and 
he  refused  to  let  himself  be  poisoned  by  the  native 
messes,  as  he  called  them,  which  he  remembered. 

Willis,  the  butler,  had  not  travelled  before.  Nor  had 
the  cook,  and  when  I  add  that  she  was  extremely  good 
looking   and  that   he   had   no   family  ties   of   any  kind 

305 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

that  I  could  discover,  some  ideas  of  my  cares  about  both 
of  them,  on  a  seven  weeks'  journey,  out  of  my  sight, 
and  always  together,  may  be  imagined.  Clara,  on  the 
other  hand,  had  been  in  Chile  before,  but  she  seemed  to 
forget  her  Spanish  as  soon  as  she  set  foot  on  the  shore. 

She  began  to  adapt  English  habits  to  her  surround- 
ings, or,  to  speak  more  accurately,  adapted  the  surround- 
ings to  her  habits,  and  we  had  not  been  there  long 
when  she  and  the  cook  took  to  making  evening  prom- 
enades all  over  the  town.  I  was  crippled  with  rheu- 
matism at  the  time  and  spent  most  of  my  waking  hours 
in  a  wheeled  chair,  so  that  it  was  not  until  some  of  my 
new  found  friends  of  the  Corps  told  me  of  these 
"  Escandalos  "  that  I  heard  of  it  —  and  it  is  a  scandal 
of  the  greatest,  in  those  countries,  for  young  women 
to  wander  about  the  streets  after  dark. 

Questioning  Clara,  I  discovered  that  both  she  and  the 
cook  had  struck  up  an  acquaintance  with  some  young 
assistants  in  the  great  English  grocery  house  where  we 
got  our  supplies  —  and  which  does  most  of  the  grocery 
business  of  that  part  of  the  world  —  and  that  the  young 
men  were,  from  Clara's  point  of  view,  eligible  and  alto- 
gether responsible  people  with  whom  to  be  seen  abroad. 
I  got  very  angry  with  Clara,  then,  for  she  knew  better. 
She  had  been  in  the  country  before  and  she  knew  its  ways. 
For  the  cook  it  was  another  thing.  In  her  the  mistake 
was  excusable.  Whereupon  Clara  retorted,  although  re- 
spectfully enough,  that  they  were  English  girls  and  not 
slaves,  and  that  a  little  harmless  amusement  was  not  a 
sin. 

306 


4 


PURELY    DOMESTIC 

I  was  too  ill  to  argue,  and  I  had  no  wish  to  turn 
the  whole  establishment  upside  down  by  sending  them 
home,  so  I  compromised.  They  were  to  be  allowed 
to  take  their  little  pleasures  of  that  sort  unmolested 
but  they  must  be  in  by  a  reasonable  hour.  They  were 
also  to  keep  to  the  big  streets  and  not  stray,  nor  were 
they  to  allow  themselves  to  be  led  into  anything  like 
a  restaurant  for  any  reason,  neither  were  they  to  speak 
to  native  men  of  any  class.  I  pointed  out  to  Clara  — 
what  she  well  knew  already  —  that  only  girls  of  a  cer- 
tain sort  were  to  be  found  with  young  men  in  such 
places  after  certain  hours,  and  that  any  lapse  of  theirs 
reflected  on  the  whole  Legation. 

It  was  some  weeks  after  that,  that  I  was  inspecting 
the  kitchen,  and  as  in  duty  bound,  took  a  look  at  the 
ice  box.  It  was  stuffed  with  every  sort  of  little  delicacy. 
The  cook  was  out  marketing  and  I  inquired  of  Clara 
what  and  who  these  preparations  were  for  and  why  I  had 
never  seen  them.  Now  Clara,  as  I  said  some  time  ago, 
had  been  brought  up  as  a  school  teacher  and,  when  she 
chose,  could  speak  English  as  well  as  I  could;  but  the 
moment  she  became  at  all  confidential  or  felt  herself 
to  be  sufficiently  popular  with  the  person  she  was  address- 
ing, she  relapsed  into  pure  cockney. 

"  Well,  madam,"  she  replied,  "  they  're  hodds  and 
hends.  'Arriet,  madam,  keeps  them  for  her  steady  — 
her  young  man.  'E  's  a  most  respectable  young  man  — 
hand  'e  says  the  food  he  gets  here  is  something  haw- 
ful  —  hand  'e  is  that  lonely!  " 

Well,   it   seemed   to   me   that   the   young  man   in  the 

307 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOxMATIST'S  WIFE 

kitchen  would  make  less  gossip  than  the  young  man  any- 
where else,  so  I  resigned  myself  —  only  observing  to 
Harriet,  when  she  came  home,  that  she  might,  when 
she  had  time,  make  a  few  similar  little  delicacies 
for  us. 

The  satire  was  lost  on  her  completely,  though,  and 
she  promised  eagerly,  excusing  herself  by  adding  that 
she  had  not  known  that  we  cared  about  such  things. 

In  the  days  that  followed,  I  could  not  help  noticing 
that  Harriet  was  getting  very  absent-minded  but,  afraid 
of  starting  any  new  developments,  I  held  my  peace  until 
her  preoccupation  began  to  appear  in  the  food.  I  con- 
cluded, naturally,  that  it  had  to  do  with  her  young  man 
from  the  grocery,  and  one  morning  to  open  the  sub- 
ject, I  asked  her  how  he  was.  To  my  surprise,  she 
shrugged  her  shoulders  nonchalantly  and  replied  that  he 
had  been  sent  by  the  firm  to  Iquique. 

"  Iquique!  "  I  cried.  "  But  —  Harriet,  why  what  has 
he  done?"  "I  am  sure  I  couldn't  say,"  she  replied, 
as  though  the  question  did  not  interest  her  in  the  least. 
"  Well  I  hope  he  will  live  through  it,"  I  said  feebly. 
"  Very  few  of  them  do,  I  am  told."  "  I  hope  so  too, 
madam,"  she  murmured  and  that  was  all  I  could  get 
out  of  her. 

Clara  knew  why,  of  course,  and,  after  some  fencing, 
informed  me  that  the  manager  of  the  stores  had  taken 
a  fancy  to  Harriet,  himself.  Not  wishing  to  be  drawn 
into  an  undignified  competition  with  one  of  his  own 
clerks,  he  had  dispatched  the  luckless  youth  to  drink 
himself  to  death  or  die  of  fever  —  the  invariable  end  of 

308 


PURELY    DOMESTIC 

the  white  man  in  Iquique  —  at  his  leisure.  After  that 
the  manager  took  her  out  himself  every  night,  and 
Clara,  of  course,  had  to  take  her  young  man  elsewhere. 

The  sequel  was  not  long  in  coming.     Mr.  H 

—  the  manager  aforesaid  —  was  a  serious  man,  and 
Harriet  was  too  good  a  cook  and  too  good  looking  a 
woman  to  be  wasted  on  anything  but  a  husband.  One 
afternoon,  about  tea  time,  Clara  entered  the  drawing- 
room  where  I  was  sitting  alone  and  asked  me  if  I  would 

accord  Mr.  H an  interview.     With  a  foreboding 

of  what  was  in  the  air,  I  told  her  to  show  him  in,  and, 
without  a  second's  delay  —  he  must  have  been  waiting 
just  behind  her  —  there  appeared  a  stout,  side-whisk- 
ered Englishman,  obviously  ill  at  ease,  but  very 
determined. 

It  did  not  take  him  long  to  come  to  the  point.  He 
had  come  to  me,  he  said,  in  preference  to  disturbing 
His  Excellency  —  wherein  he  was  well  advised,  I  could 
not  help  thinking.  He  was  a  bachelor.  He  recognised 
that  I  stood,  as  it  were.  In  the  position  of  guardian 
towards  Harriet,  whom  he  adored,  and  whom,  if  I  saw 
no  objection,  he  proposed  to  marry  as  soon  as  possible. 
When  I  had  recovered  my  breath,  I  replied  that  Elarrlet 
was  under  a  three  years'  contract,  that  I  had  brought 
her  out  at  considerable  expense,  in  order  to  make  cer- 
tain of  my  husband's  comfort,  that  she  had  not  been 
with  us  for  quite  a  year,  and  that  the  whole  thing  was 
a  deliberate  breach  of  faith.  Thereupon  he  became 
sentimental,  and  assured  me  that  they  were  made  for 
each   other   and  that  he  was   certain  I   should  not  be 

309 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

so  cruel  as  to  stand  in  the  way  of  the  girl's  happiness. 
He  was  rich,  I  knew,  and  I  knew,  too,  that  Harriet 
would  never  in  this  world  get  another  such  chance, 
besides  which  I  was  very  fond  of  her,  I  asked  for  a 
few  days'  grace.  I  had,  I  told  him,  some  one  else  to 
consider  besides  myself.  Of  course,  he  said.  That  was 
quite  natural  —  and  would  I  tell  His  Excellency? 

After  that  he  left,  and,  as  soon  as  he  had  gone,  Clara 
appeared.     Harriet  had  asked  her  to  tell  me  that  she 

firmly   intended  to   marry   Mr.   H ,  —  I   can   see 

Clara's  demure  smile  at  the  trouble  she  was  helping  to 
raise,  —  and  would  I  be  kind  enough  to  inform  Mr. 
Eraser  of  her  intention? 

"  I  will,"  I  answered,  "  I  '11  tell  him,  but  I  don't  know 
what  will  happen." 

An  hour  later  Hugh  appeared,  and  when  I  had  an  op- 
portunity I  told  him. 

To  say  that  he  was  furious  is  to  put  it  very  mildly. 
He  laughed  at  my  description  of  H ,  and  sym- 
pathised with  me,  but  as  for  Harriet  he  would  see  her 
further  before  he  would  allow  her  to  break  a  contract 
in  that  light-hearted  manner.  He  would  write  to  the 
fellow,  and  that  would  be  the  end  of  it.  If  he  had  any 
more  trouble  with  her  he  would  send  her  home  on  the 
next  ship. 

But   Mr.    H was   not   so    easily   discouraged. 

That  evening  he  arrived  at  the  Legation,  and  said  that  he 
wished  to  see  the  British  Minister.  The  butler  —  who 
was  in  his  confidence,  of  course  —  brought  him  up  and 
showed  him  to  Hugh's  study,  where  he  apologised  for 

310 


PURELY    DOMESTIC 

intruding,  and  said  that  he  had  tried  to  come  and  ar- 
range the  affair  on  a  friendly  footing. 

Restraining,  as  he  told  me  afterwards,  an  inclination 
to  throw  an  ink  bottle  at  him,  Hugh  asked  him  what 
he  meant  by  a  "  friendly  footing  "  and  demanded  an  ex- 
planation of  his  outrageous  conduct.  After  all  the  ex- 
pense and  trouble  of  bringing  the  girl  out,  no  sooner 
was  she  landed  than  she  wanted  to  leave  him! 

Mr.    H pleaded   that   she   was    an    extremely 

refined  character,  quite  out  of  her  place  in  the  kitchen, 
that  he  was  violently  in  love  with  her,  and  that  it  hurt 
him  keenly  to  think  of  her  in  a  servile  position  —  also 
that  he  would  willingly  pay  all  the  expenses  that  we  had 
incurred. 

That  last  suggestion  almost  closed  the  interview.  I 
had  to  be  sent   for  to   smooth  Hugh   down   and  make 

him   understand   that   Mr.    H was   really   trying 

to  do  all  that  he  could,  at  the  same  time  explaining  to 
him  that  my  husband  did  not  really  call  him  an  impudent 
rogue,  and  that,  in  the  excitement,  he  must  have  mis- 
understood the  words.  It  was  a  long  business,  for 
Hugh  had  entangled  himself  in  the  depths  of  that  High- 
land   temper    of    his,    where    I    could    not    follow   him, 

and  every  word  that  Mr.  H ,  who  accepted  my 

suggestion  very  sensibly,  could  say,  only  made  him  worse. 
At  last,  though,  Hugh  came  to  the  surface,  and,  after 
the  other's  repeated  promises  to  scour  South  America 
for  a  cook  for  us,  he  consented  to  think  it  over. 

When  it  was  all  settled  I  was  rather  glad.  Harriet 
was  a  dear,  good  woman  and  she  deserved  the  happiness 

311 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

she  got.     H would  not  have  it  known  that  she 

was  a  cook  —  Englishman  that  he  was  —  and  so  cir- 
culated the  report  among  his  friends  that  she  had  come 
out  as  a  companion  —  and  had  been  good  natured 
enough  to  help  in  the  kitchen.  I  do  not  know  how 
Harriet  got  on  in  her  new  circle  of  friends,  with  her 
carriages  and  dances  and  servants,  but  she  was  always 
very  happy.  She  had  a  big  new  house  filled  with  new 
furniture.  "  He  has  even  provided  new  tooth  brushes, 
madam!  "  she  told  me  proudly,  and  everything  else  that 
her  heart  could  desire.  But  she  never  lost  her  head. 
Even  on  her  wedding  morning,  when  I  came  in  to  put 
her  veil  on  for  her  and  she  had  got  herself  into  the 
really  beautiful  wedding  dress  he  had  bought  her,  with 
the  diamond  earrings  and  brooches  that  had  been  his 
wedding  gift,  I  found  her  standing  before  the  glass, 
crying.  The  wedding  party  was  downstairs  already, 
and  thinking  that  it  was  the  actuality  of  the  approach- 
ing change  in  her  life  that  had  affected  her,  I  patted 
her  shoulder  and  told  her  that  she  could  not  help  being 
as  happy  as  she  was  good. 

"  Oh,  it  is  n't  that,  madam,"  she  exclaimed,  "  thank 
you  all  the  same.  It's  them  jams!  I  am  near  sure 
they  are  going  wrong!  I  couldn't  leave  you  with  them 
like  that!" 

She  took  off  her  dress,  put  on  an  apron  and,  though 
the  carriages  were  waiting,  went  to  the  kitchen,  and 
inspected  and  resealed  every  one  of  some  dozen  jars, 
before  she  would  consent  to  go  upstairs  again. 

She  used  to   come   to   see   me   regularly   afterwards, 

312 


PURELY    DOMESTIC  Si. 

never  failing  to  bring  with  her  some  little  thing  of  her 
own  making.  The  last  time  was  when  we  were  prepar- 
ing to  leave  for  England,  and  she  was  very  much  dis- 
tressed. "  You  are  not  well,  madam,"  she  said,  "  I  don't 
know  how  you  will  bear  the  journey,  so  I  brought  you 
a  few  jars  of  mincemeat  —  I  made  it  myself!  " 

Her  departure  brought  Don  Justo  Naranjo  —  Sir 
Just  Orange  —  into  the  kitchen,  and,  with  him  for  an 
assistant,  a  boy  whom  I  only  knew  as  Juan.  Between 
them  they  did  very  well,  though  Juan  gave  us  at  least 
one  adventure  which  was  rather  fatiguing. 

Don  Justo  would  not  go  to  the  market  himself  while 
there  was  any  one  else  to  send,  and  so  the  duty  fell  upon 
Juan,  who  was  consequently  entrusted  with  the  market 
money,  sometimes  as  much  as  forty  or  fifty  dollars. 

One  afternoon  I  received  word  through  Willis  that 
Juan  had  not  returned.  He  had  gone  out  very  early, 
in  the  best  of  health  and  spirits  —  and  with  about  fifty 
dollars  (one  hundred  "pesos").  It  was  now  three  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon.  Don  Justo  had  not  wished  to  disturb  me 
until  it  was  absolutely  necessary,  but  he  was  growing  ner- 
vous. I  wasted  no  time,  but  went  to  Hugh  and  laid  the 
matter  before  him.    The  police,  I  said,  must  be  roused. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Hugh,  blotting  the  letter  he  was 
writing.  "  We  will  go  and  rouse  them.  The  walk 
will  do  you  good,  my  dear." 

I  had  not  expected  this,  but  I  was  feeling  very  much 
better,  and,  knowing  that  a  personal  visit  might  bring 
the  guardians  of  the  law  out  of  their  usual  lethargy,  I 
got  ready.    We  had  never  before  been  under  the  neces- 

313 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

sity  of  interviewing  the  police  personally,  and  it  was  only 
when  we  were  out  in  the  street  that  we  discovered 
that  the  nearest  police  station  was  in  an  entirely  dif- 
ferent quarter  of  the  town  and  a  very  long  way  off. 
I  suggested  a  cab,  though  cabs  were  scarce  in  Santiago. 
We  could  send  for  one,  I  said.  But  no.  Hugh  had  come 
out  for  a  walk  and  he  was  going  to  have  one.  Square 
after  square  we  crossed,  street  after  street,  and  I  was 
nearly  ready  to  sit  down  on  the  pavement  when,  at  last, 
we  came  upon  the  station.  The  inspector,  when  I  told 
him  our  story  —  Hugh,  by  the  way,  though  he  knew 
Spanish  perfectly,  became  afflicted  with  the  same  com- 
plaint as  Clara  soon  after  we  landed,  and  insisted  upon 
being  interpreted  —  was,  first  of  all,  considerably,  though 
very  respectfully,  amused  at  the  idea  of  the  British  Min- 
ister, not  to  mention  the  British  Minister's  wife,  having 
come  all  that  way  on  foot  to  inquire  about  a  miserable 
kitchen  boy.  But  when  I  went  on  to  say  that  the  latter 
had  a  hundred  pesos  the  amusement  vanished.  He  could 
understand  the  anxiety  over  the  pesos  very  well  —  that 
part  of  it  was  perfectly  natural.  He  would  put  the  net 
of  his  police  over  the  city,  he  assured  us.  He  would 
drag  it  to  the  depths,  and  the  boy  should  be  recovered  if 
he  were  alive.  "  He  may  have  been  murdered  though," 
he  added,  pursing  his  mouth.  "  Such  things  have  hap- 
pened in  my  experience  —  yes,  indeed!  "  I  should  think 
they  had !  Manslaughter  is  as  common  as  stealing  in  the 
capital  of  Chile. 

It  was  the  next  evening  that  a  policeman  appeared  at 
the  door,  leading  Juan,  very  grimy  and  blear-eyed,  by 

314 


PURELY    DOMESTIC 

the  ear.  He  had  been  discovered  in  some  horrible  den 
—  without,  of  course,  a  penny  piece,  and  this  was  his 
excuse : 

"  As  I  started  to  the  market,  Sefiora,  I  felt  a  little 
sickness  in  the  —  with  respect  —  the  stomach  —  and  I 
stopped  at  a  chemist's  to  alleviate  the  pain.  The  as- 
sassin gave  me  something  in  a  glass,  and,  before  all  the 
saints,  I  remember  no  more  until  this  kind  gentleman 
woke  me  up  an  hour  ago." 

I  wanted  to  dismiss  him,  but  Hugh  said  that  it  would 
do  the  boy  no  particular  good  to  turn  him  out,  and 
that  we  should  have  to  get  some  one  else.  Besides, 
they  were  all  equally  dishonest  and  unreliable,  and  so 
Juan  stayed. 

Later,  he  developed  into  a  really  excellent  cook.  He 
had  ambitions,  and  if  a  single  dish  of  his  were  untasted 
he  would  mope  for  half  a  day.  This  sentiment  of  his 
got  me  into  trouble  more  than  once,  for  Juan,  when  the 
dinner  was  brought  up,  would  hide  himself  behind  the 
curtains  of  the  dining-room  door  to  see  for  himself  what 
happened  to  his  creations.  On  Good  Friday  of  one  year, 
Sir  Just  Orange  being  on  leave,  Juan  cooked  the  dinner 
and,  as  usual,  stole  upstairs  and  hid  behind  the  cur- 
tains. It  was  a  maigre  dinner,  of  course,  but  Juan  had 
seized  a  chance  to  give  his  ambitions  an  opportunity 
and  had  displayed  himself  in  seven  or  eight  different 
dishes.  I  knew  he  was  behind  the  door,  and  I  did  not 
want  either  to  hurt  his  feelings  or  dampen  his  ardour, 
so,  although  I  was  not  in  the  least  hungry,  I  attempted 
to  sample  every  one. 

315 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

Presently  I  caught  sight  of  Hugh's  face,  and  the 
growing  gloom  of  it  told  me  that  something  was  badly 
amiss.  Willis  wore  a  haggard  look,  too,  and  the  only 
person  who  did  not  seem  to  be  under  the  general  influ- 
ence was  the  footman. 

Not  a  word  did  Hugh  say  as  dish  succeeded  dish, 
and,  as  long  as  Willis  remained  behind  his  chair,  I  could 
not  ask  any  questions.  So  the  meal  went  on,  the  silence 
growing  thicker  and  thicker.  It  chanced  that  day  that 
Juan  had  seen  fit  to  crown  his  efforts  with  a  genuine 
English  pudding,  something  without  which,  in  the  ordi- 
nary course  of  events,  Hugh  would  not  have  thought 
himself  to  have  either  lunched  or  dined,  and  I,  praying 
that  the  crisis  would  soon  be  over,  took  a  tiny  piece. 
That  was  the  fuse.  Hugh  began,  and,  as  Willis  instantly 
found  something  to  do  elsewhere,  I  got  the  full 
benefit  of  his  stored-up  wrath.  "  And  this,"  he  said, 
*'  is  what  you  call  a  meal  for  Good  Friday?  I  thought 
that  CathoHcs  made  some  attempt,  at  least,  to  set  the 
day  apart  1  I  have  never  seen  such  a  lack  of  all  decent 
feeling  in  my  life.  That  cook  —  of  course  he  is  a  Catho- 
lic too  —  knows  no  better,  but  you  —  I  am  shocked  and 
astonished!  " 

So  was  I,  but  it  was  no  good  saying  so.  Once 
Hugh  got  on  to  that  subject  there  was  no  arguing  or 
pleading  with  him.  His  views  were  deeply  rooted  in 
the  heavy  soil  of  the  early  "  walnut  and  antimacassar  " 
period  and,  the  soul  of  sweetness  and  reasonableness 
in  every  other  relation  of  life,  let  that  topic  creep  into 
any  discussion  and  he  was  another  person  in  an  instant. 

316 


PURELY    DOMESTIC 

It  was  an  hour,  that  day,  before  I  persuaded  him  that 
the  whole  thing  was  not  a  premeditated  insult  to  Holy 
Week,  especially  prepared  by  myself  and  Juan  and  that 
my  only  fault  had  been  one  of  kindheartedness. 

I  remember  in  London  a  still  more  trying  occasion 
soon  after  our  arrival  from  Rome  and  just  before  we  left 
for  Chile.  We  were  in  lodgings,  and  one  Sunday  after- 
noon, I  was  sitting  by  the  window,  wondering  whether 
the  interminable  day  were  ever  going  to  end,  when,  faint 
but  distinct,  from  somewhere  below  came  the  sound  of 
a  bell.  I  started,  and  glanced  at  Hugh,  sitting  on  the 
other  side  of  the  room,  patiently  and  laboriously  wading 
through  a  Sunday  Journal.  Now,  in  the  cities  from 
H^hence  I  had  come  and  where,  until  then,  I  had  lived 
most  of  my  life,  a  bell  in  the  street  meant  only  one 
thing  —  the  procession  of  the  Host.  I  had  only  just 
come  to  London;  I  had  never  been  there  since  my  child- 
hood, and  I  was  an  utter  stranger  to  its  habits.  I  did  not 
attempt  to  think  of  any  other  meaning.  The  bell  came 
closer,  and  I  continued  to  regard  Hugh,  my  heart  in  my 
mouth  and  my  knees  trembling,  for  I  was  resolved  to  pay 
the  Blessed  Sacrament  its  due.  I  would  kneel,  if  I  were 
pitched  out  Into  the  street  for  it.  Hugh  continued  to 
plod  through  the  paper  he  was  reading,  as  the  bell 
came  closer  and  closer,  and  then,  just  as  I  was  about  to 
slip  to  my  knees,  he  looked  up.  I  do  not  know  whether 
he  had  any  idea  of  what  was  in  my  mind  or  not,  but  he 
glanced  out  of  the  window  and  then  back  at  me.  "  Ah  — 
muffins!  "  he  said,  and  fell  to  his  reading  again.  In  an- 
other moment,  he  would  have  caught  me  kneeling  to  the 

317 


REiMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

muffin  bell!  I  should  not  have  heard  the  last  of  it  for 
years. 

It  was  not  very  long  after  we  had  settled  down  in 
Santiago  that  I  made  up  my  mind  to  have  the  English 
servants  given  some  idea,  however  rudimentary,  of  the 
language  of  the  people  amongst  whom  they  were  living. 
Hugh,  as  it  has  been  said,  knew  Spanish,  but  quite  refused 
to  condescend  to  its  employment.  I  picked  up  a  smatter- 
ing of  it,  before  long,  but  it  seemed  to  me  that  unless 
some  one  besides  myself  in  the  establishment  could  speak 
and  write  it,  we  were  in  danger  of  all  sorts  of  compli- 
cations. So  I  sent  for  a  tutor  and  ordered  Willis  and 
Harriet  and  Clara  to  attend  classes.  They  had  no  great 
objection  at  first.  Any  excuse  for  doing  nothing  was  a 
boon,  and  so  they  gave  an  hour  a  day  to  the  little  Chileno 
schoolmaster.  Once  or  twice,  as  the  weeks  went  on,  it 
struck  me  that  he  looked  rather  done  up,  and,  at  last, 
I  asked  him  if  all  were  well. 

"  Seiiora,"  he  said,  "  of  your  graciousness  you  have 
employed  me  to  teach  the  Seiior  Willis  and  the  two 
Senoritas  our  tongue,  but  —  I  have  struggled  with  my- 
self, Senora  —  I  cannot  take  your  good  money  any  more. 
I  have  done  my  best  to  earn  it,  but  I  am  only  a  man.  My 
poor  brains  are  not  equal  to  the  task.  No  doubt  the 
Seiior  Willis  means  well,"  he  added. 

So  another  of  my  attempts  to  do  good  to  others  failed, 
but,  like  the  "  Senor  Willis,"  I  also  meant  well. 

Clara,  who,  in  spite  of  her  hot  temper  and  her  love  of 
amusement,  had  nursed  me  devotedly  through  many  ill- 
nesses, finally  decided  to  marry  an  Irishman,  a  very  good 

318 


PURELY    DOMESTIC 

fellow,  whose  only  failing,  in  her  eyes,  was  his  obstinate 
attachment  to  his  Church.  She  described  his  ultimatum, 
on  this  point,  with  little  snorts  of  fury. 

"  You  know,  Madam,  he  has  been  pestering  me  for 
months  to  marry  him,  and  when  at  last  I  did  consent, 
what  do  you  think  he  said?  '  That 's  all  right.  We  '11  be 
married  as  soon  as  ever  Mrs.  Eraser  can  let  you  go.  But 
first  of  all,  my  girl,  you  must  go  to  the  Priest.'  '  I  '11  do 
nothing  of  the  sort !  '  says  I.  '  Oh  yes,  you  will,'  says 
he.  '  Devil  a  bit  do  I  marry  a  heretic!  '  So  I  told  him 
to  go  about  his  business  —  but  oh,  I  do  love  him,  and 
whatever  I  am  going  to  do  without  him,  I  don't  know! 
He  takes  it  all  that  quiet,  too!  Says  I  am  sure  to  come, 
sooner  or  later,  and  he  's  got  a  house  —  it 's  almost  fur- 
nished now!  He's  a  beautiful  carpenter  —  oh  dear,  oh 
dear!" 

"Why  are  you  so  afraid  of  our  religion?"  I  asked, 
knowing  that  poor  Clara  had  none  of  her  own. 

"  I  just  can't  and  won't  go  to  Confession,"  she  an- 
swered hotly,  "  and  that 's  an  end  of  it!  " 

Very  soon,  however,  she  mustered  up  courage  to  go 
and  have  a  talk  with  her  lover's  particular  Padre,  and 
returned  much  comforted.  "  There  's  one  thing  about 
Catholics,  anyway,"  she  informed  me,  "  they  can't 
divorce  their  wives  because  they  go  and  take  fancies  to 
other  women !  If  I  do  marry  Lawrence,  he  's  mine  for 
all  time." 

A  few  weeks  later  a  very  happy  and  smiling  Clara  was 
received  Into  the  Church  (of  which,  let  me  say,  she  be- 
came a  most  faithful  member) ,  and  soon  afterwards.  In 

319 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

my  best  garden-party  frock  and  with  my  own  lace  veil  on 
her  pretty  head,  she  and  "  Lawrence  "  were  made  man 
and  wife.  This  was  only  a  few  days  before  our  own 
departure  from  Chile,  and  the  kind-hearted  girl  cut  short 
her  honeymoon  to  come  and  pack  up  for  me.  After 
telling  me  of  all  her  husband's  goodness  to  her,  she  went 
on  to  say,  "  And  if  you  could  just  see  my  house.  Madam ! 
It's  perfect,  and  he  made  every  single  thing  himself!  " 
Then  looking  at  me  with  evident  pity,  she  added, 
"  What  do  people  do  who  don't  marry  carpenters?  " 

I  lost  sight  of  Clara  in  after  years.  If  this  book  falls 
into  her  hands,  let  it  tell  her  that  I  have  never  forgotten 
her  and  have  often  wished  to  hear  from  her  again. 


320 


XIV 

IN    A   SOUTH    AMERICAN   CAPITAL 

Sarah  Bernhardt  in  Santiago  —  The  Luxury  of  Tears  —  A  Paternal  Impres- 
ario and  a  Forsaken  Opera  Company — Dangers  of  Dining  Out  —  The 
Nitrate  War  —  The  Arbitration  Courts  —  An  Official  Surprise  —  The 
"Impartial"  Brazilian — "Think  of  Our  Wives  and  Families!"  — 
The  Cholera  Comes  over  the  Passes  —  Death  Traps  in  the  Andes  —  Two 
Errors  of  Judgment  —  A  Gruesome  Caller  —  Senor  B.'s  Brilliant  Idea  — 
Santiago  Apaches  —  A  Discriminating  Thief —  Those  Honest  Policemen ! 

SOCIETY,  —  respectable,  unofficial  society  in  Santi- 
ago, and  all  over  Chile,  for  that  matter,  is  divided 
into  two  camps,  the  extremely  pious  and  the  merely 
pious,  and  there  was  a  distinct  flutter  when  it  was  an- 
nounced that  Sarah  Bernhardt  proposed  to  enliven  the 
winter  season  with  a  series  of  her  best  known  plays, 
which,  I  suppose,  she  Imagined  to  be  admirably  adapted 
to  the  climatic  conditions  —  the  divine  one's  favourites, 
in  fact.  The  extremely  pious,  who  had,  of  course,  only 
heard  of  the  wonder  of  the  age  by  hearsay,  would  not 
have  put  foot  inside  a  theatre  to  see  a  per'son  of  such, 
let  us  say,  precarious,  character  for  all  the  money  in  the 
country,  but  the  others,  many  of  whom  had  seen  Paris, 
if  not  Bernhardt,  were  crazy  with  excitement.  True 
Latins,  it  was  not  so  much  the  artistic  treat  they  desired, 
as  the  opportunity  to  weep,  and  they  knew  that  Sarah  was 
an  infallible  tear  producer. 

321 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

Of  these,  my  friend  Mercedes  was  a  fair  specimen. 
Perfectly  happy  In  her  own  well-ordered  life,  she  had 
never  touched  the  hem  of  sorrow's  garment,  but  I  know, 
for  she  boasted  of  It,  that  she  was  never  supremely  happy 
until  she  had  found  something  to  cry  over.  I  remember, 
once,  she  burst  Into  the  drawing-room,  her  eyes  stream- 
ing, and  tossed  a  book  which  I  had  lent  her  some  days 
before,  down  on  the  sofa. 

"  What  Is  It,  my  dear?  "  I  asked,  with  ready  sympathy, 
"  what  has  happened?  "  But  Mercedes  only  wept  afresh 
on  the  arm  of  the  sofa  where  she  had  followed  the  book. 
I  was  intensely  concerned,  and,  sitting  beside  her,  at- 
tempted some  sort  of  consolation;  but  Mercedes  had, 
as  the  sailors  say,  "  too  much  way  on  her  "  to  be  stopped 
at  once  and  It  was  all  of  five  minutes  before  she  lifted 
her  head  and  mopped  away  her  tears  with  her  glove. 

"  It  Is  too  beautiful!  "  she  sobbed  brokenly,  "  It  Is  the 
most  beautiful  thing  I  ever  dreamt  of." 

"  What  is,  my  dear?  "  I  asked  gently,  "  and  if  It,  what- 
ever it  is,  Is  so  beautiful,  why  should  you  weep  your  heart 
out  over  it?  " 

"Weep  —  but  — "  she  stared  at  me,  "of  course  I 
weep,  I  have  never  enjoyed  anything  so  much  as  that 
book  —  it  is  the  work  of  a  genius  —  I  have  been  crying 
over  It  all  the  morning!  " 

Sarah,  as  always,  justified  herself.  I  was  living  then 
in  a  wheel  chair  or  nothing  then  would  have  kept  me 
away,  and  when  Mercedes  appeared  the  morning  after 
"  La  Dame  aux  Camellias  "  I  knew  she  had  revelled  in  a 
paradise  hitherto  closed  to  her. 

322 


IN   A    SOUTH   AMERICAN    CAPITAL 

"  Ask  me  not !  "  she  cried.  *'  It  is  not  a  thing  to  speak 
of.  I  saw  it  only  dimly.  I  was  overcome.  I  cried  twelve 
pocket  handkerchiefs  full  —  I  was  in  heaven !  " 

It  was  the  measure  of  her  estimation  of  the  actress's 
talents.  That  she  had  thought  of  taking  twelve  handker- 
chiefs with  her  beforehand,  spoke  volumes.  It  was  as 
fine  a  tribute  as  the  Bernhardt  ever  received,  and  I  was 
sorry  that  she  could  not  hear  of  It. 

Speaking  of  theatres  reminds  me  of  an  experience 
which  our  Italian  colleague  underwent  soon  after.  An 
opera  company,  travelling  under,  apparently,  the  most 
reputable  auspices,  was  committed  to  his  good  offices  by 

some  friends  In  Italy,  and  C ,  delighted  with  the 

Idea  of  hearing  his  native  music  again  and  of  showing 
the  Chilenos  what  real  opera  was,  made  us  all  promise 
to  patronise  the  company  and  Imbue  the  natives  with  its 
desirability. 

The  Company  came,  some  fifty  or  sixty  strong,  in- 
cluding "  Ballerinas,"  all  under  the  management  of  and 
carefully  chaperoned  by  a  suave,  well-mannered,  soberly- 
dressed  Roman,  —  an  artist,  and,  as  far  as  any  one  could 
see,  a  person  of  responsibility  and  Importance  In  his  own 
world.  With  touching  solicitude  for  the  morals  of  the 
little  ballet  girls,  he  invariably  accompanied  them  wher- 
ever they  went,  and,  as  they  always  went  about  together, 
it  may  be  understood  that  his  hands  were  full. 

But  his  praiseworthy  vigilance  never  relaxed,  nor  did 
he  so  much  as  complain  when  the  corps  de  ballet,  thirty 
or  thirty-five  strong,  suggested  an  occasional,  and  more 
than  occasional,  restaurant.     "  What  would  you  have !  " 

323 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

he  would  say,  when  complimented  upon  his  good  nature. 
*'  These  young  ladies  are  under  my  care.  Children  — 
mere  children.  They  must  have  their  little  amusement, 
you  understand  —  it  is  nature!"  They  became  an  in- 
stitution after  a  while  —  and  the  opera  was  good. 

The  denouement  came  at  the  very  end  of  the  season, 

and  C woke  up  one  morning  to  find  the  entire 

opera  company  —  minus  its  paternal  manager — at  the 
front  door,  demanding  justice  and  breakfast.  How  the 
man  had  gone  was  never  discover'ed,  but  he  had  van- 
ished, with,  needless  to  say,  the  cash-box,  and  that  at  a 
moment  when  there  was  not  a  ship  in  the  harbour  of 
Valparaiso  which  would  have  taken  him  anywhere.  Nor 
could  any  signs  of  his  departure  be  found  at  the  rail- 
way station.  Nothing  at  all  like  him  had  been  seen. 
He  had  simply  dematerialised  himself  into  thin  air. 

As  a  result  C had  to  keep  his  forsaken  company 

fed  and  housed  for  a  month  and  more,  before  he  could 
embark  them  on  a  home-bound  ship,  and,  for  once  in  a 
way  got  some  real  work  to  do.  For  the  care  of  fifty  or 
sixty  people  in  such  a  city  as  Santiago  is  a  business  by 
itself.  C was  rather  pleased  with  the  mild  ex- 
citement, for  the  principals  kept  themselves  to  themselves 
and  left  him  free  to  chaperon  the  ballet,  which  he  did 
with  industry,  "To  them"  (the  principals),  he  told 
me,  "it  is  a  rehearsal  in  tragedy  —  they  develop  new 
effects  every  day.  But  to  the  little  Ballerinas  —  all  that 
I  have  to  do  is  to  take  them  in  a  body  to  a  restaurant 
and  provide  them  with  macaroni  and  the  horrible  wines 
of  the  country  —  and  behold  they  laugh  and  sing  like 

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IN   A    SOUTH    AMERICAN    CAPITAL 

little  birds.  If  I  were  not  there  to  prevent  it,  I  believe 
they  would  dance  on  the  tables!  " 

Speaking  of  the  extremely  and  the  merely  pious,  I 
forgot  to  say,  that  my  friend  Mercedes  had  one  of  the 
former  as  a  companion  —  a  link,  so  to  speak,  with  serious 
things — for  Mercedes  was  not  over  serious.  A  young 
woman  was  this  companion,  and  of  a  very  real  piety, 
one,  indeed,  that  verged  on  sanctity.  Her,  Mercedes 
took  to  see  Bernhardt  in  the  Dame  aux  Camellias!  The 
girl,  fortunately  for^  her,  did  not  understand  much  of 
dialogue,  but  even  so,  a  great  deal  of  the  story  was  plain 
enough,  and,  with  the  daylight,  Mercedes  told  me,  she 
flew  to  her  confessor.  That,  to  Mercedes'  way  of  think- 
ing, crowned  the  event  with  glory.  Twelve  handker- 
chiefs full  of  tears  —  and  her  companion  so  affected  that 
only  a  Priest  could  restore  her  to  herself ! 

Piety  takes  strange  directions  with  some  people.  I 
remember  two  old  ladies  —  perhaps  they  were  not  really 
old,  but  everything  is  a  matter  of  comparison  —  both 
devotees  and  both  as  sincere  in  their  devotion  as  ordinary 
human  beings  could  be.  In  one,  however,  it  took  the 
shape  of  asceticism.  She  wore  nothing  but  black,  abjured 
finery,  ate  sparingly,  and  never  appeared  in  the  world  at 
all.  In  the  other,  it  became  a  cheerful  good-nature  which 
seized  eagerly  on  such  harmless  pleasures  as  pretty  clothes 
and  entertainments  for  herself,  and  spilt  itself  over  in 
providing  cheer  for  others.  The  result  was  that  the 
ascetic  was  always  fearful  of  the  results  of  self  indulgence 
on  her  sister's  soul,  and  the  other  was  equally  fearful  of 
the  possibilities   of  Pharisaism   on   that  of  the   ascetic. 

3^5 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

The  anxiety  was  genuine,  too,  for  they  loved  each  other 
dearly,  but,  at  times,  it  came  near  to  spoiling  both  of  their 
lives. 

Society,  in  our  sense  of  the  word,  there  was  none,  ex- 
cept that  of  the  Corps  Diplomatique.  The  natives  sel- 
dom invited  us  to  any  functions  and  we,  consequently, 
did  not  invite  them.  True,  the  very  rich  and  distin- 
guished occasionally  gave  a  dinner  party,  but  those  fear- 
ful affairs  were,  thank  Heaven !  few  and  far  between. 
There  was  also  the  once-a-year  lunch  which  the  President 
gave  the  Corps,  but,  as  he  disliked  them,  and  they,  with- 
out an  exception,  returned  the  compliment,  the  official 
functions  were  confined  to  them. 

The  Chilean  dinner  was  usually  eaten  five  or  half- 
past,  but  when  Europeans  were  invited,  it  was  put  off 
until  the  European  hour*,  by  which  time  the  family  was 
half  famished.  The  Season,  If  such  It  may  be  called,  was 
a  winter  one,  which  helped  not  a  little  to  make  the  occa- 
sion a  serious  risk  at  times.  The  houses  are  built  around 
patios,  there  is  a  total  absence  of  any  artificial  heat,  and 
the  rooms  are  draught  traps.  Despite  all  this,  one  had  to 
put  on  evening  dress,  and,  after  gathering  In  the  drawing- 
room  on  one  side  of  the  patio,  cross  the  court-yard  in  the 
open  air,  without  any  wraps  over  our  bare  shoulders,  to 
the  dining-room  on  the  other.  The  kitchen,  as  Invariably, 
was  on  another  side,  so  that  when  the  door  was  opened 
and  shut,  the  night  air  romped  through  the  room.  Ac- 
cepting Invitations  to  dinner,  it  can  be  seen,  was  accepting 
a  considerable  risk,  and  one  unfortunate  foreigner,  an 
Italian,  nearly  died  of  pneumonia  in  consequence,  while 

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IN   A    SOUTH   AMERICAN    CAPITAL 

we  were  there.  The  dinner  Itself  was  very  elaborate,  but 
the  chef  d'oeuvre  was  almost  always  the  same.  This  con- 
sisted of  a  clear  jelly,  in  which  was  imbedded  a  number  of 
naked  china  dolls.  The  effect  of  these  little  white  corpses 
taken  in  conjunction  with  the  walk  across  the  patio  was 
rather  startling  —  they  assumed  a  certain  significance! 
At  other  times  flowers  were  substituted,  but  even  these, 
pretty  as  they  were,  had  a  cold,  waxy,  memento-mori 
look. 

I  have  known  many  nations  that  ate  heartily,  not  to 
say  greedily,  but  the  Chilenos  are  alone  in  the  consump- 
tion of  solid  food.  They  went  through  every  course 
from  soup  to  sweets,  and  often  an  extra  dish  of  their 
own  besides,  spar'ing  nothing.  At  lunch,  when  that  was 
done,  a  savoury  was  brought  on  —  a  digestif  —  of  red 
beefsteak  in  the  ration  of  a  pound  to  a  person,  and  what 
is  more,  they  ate  it  up. 

When  the  women  had  retired  across  the  patio  to  the 
drawing-room,  tea  was  br'ought.  At  this  stage  the  chil- 
dren upstairs  were  wakened — for  tea  is  a  rite  —  to 
drink  the  stewed,  sugary  stuff.  More  than  once  I  have 
seen  babies  of  four  and  five  year's  old  sleeping  under  the 
table  in  the  drawing-room  like  puppies  when  we  came  in. 
Their  mothers  did  not  see  the  use  of  putting  them  to  bed 
only  to  awaken  them  again.  Yet  they  must  have  the 
evening  tea,  therefore  they  stayed  up.  Later  when  the 
men  came  back,  and  an  ordinary  party  would  have  broken 
up,  the  servants  relaid  the  dining  table  with  all  the  re- 
mains of  the  dinner,  and  we  were  marshalled  back  across 
the  patio  with  the  same  partners.     There  we  resumed 

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REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

the  same  seats  we  had  occupied  before  and  had  to  pretend 
another  appetite,  while  the  hostess  and  her  friends  ate 
as  though  they  had  not  dined  at  all. 

That  same  beefsteak  is  the  invariable  accompaniment 
of  every  meal  from  breakfast  onward.  The  women  go 
straight  from  their  beds  to  Mass.  A  skirt  is  thrown  on, 
and,  for  the  rest,  the  long  Spanish  veil  covers  them  over, 
and  one  does  not  ask  what  is  beneath.  Breakfast  comes 
at  ten-thirty,  and  they  do  not  wait  to  dress  before  sat- 
isfying their  appetites.  This  begins  with  Casuela,  a 
soup  covered  with  a  special  and  rather  repulsive  yellow 
grease,  and  full  of  mangled  chicken,  which  was  alive  and 
hearty  when  the  women  left  the  house.  I  know  very 
few  things  quite  so  unappetising  as  that  same  Casuela. 
Afterwards  two  or  three  dishes,  and  the  pound  of  steak 
to  each  person,  child  or  adult.  The  lunch  or  "  las  onces  " 
(eleven  o'clock)  is  at  two  as  a  rule,  and  this  is  a  succes- 
sion of  cold  meats  and  sweets,  and  then  beefsteak  again. 
The  supper  is  at  five-thirty,  and  we  have  seen  what  that 
is  made  of.  Altogether  they  consume  three  huge  meat 
meals  in  seven  hours,  to  say  nothing  of  tea,  which  is  a 
meal  in  itself. 

Of  course  rheumatism  is  endemic.  I  have  known  chil- 
dren of  five  years  old  to  be  completely  bedridden. 


The  chief  reason  for  our  having  been  sent  to  Chile 
was  that  the  choice  had  fallen  on  my  husband  to  com- 
plete the  settling  of  the  claims  resulting  from  the  war 

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IN    A    SOUTH    AMERICAN    CAPITAL 

between  Chile  and  Peru  and  Bolivia,  and  I  think  a  few 
words  on  that  now  forgotten  subject  will  not  be  out  of 
place. 

The  war  was  due  to  the  exploitation  of  nitrate  of  soda 
in  the  desert  of  Atacama,  and  has,  in  consequence,  gone 
down  to  history  as  the  nitrate  war.  The  name  has,  at 
least,  the  somewhat  unusual  merit  of  frankness,  but,  look- 
ing behind  the  object,  one  meets  the  invariable  reason 
of  all  wars  that  have  ever  been  fought  since  the  begin- 
ning of  time.  One  party  to  it  —  Chile  —  was  healthy, 
strong,  and  prosperous;  the  others  —  Peru  and  Bolivia 
—  were  weak,  bankrupt  and  desperate,  and  when  those 
ideal  conditions  exist,  one  reason  is  generally  as  good  as 
another. 

After  the  end  of  the  war  with  Spain,  in  1866,  a  con- 
vention between  Chile  and  Bolivia  threw  the  desert  open 
to  both  to  exploit  in  common,  though  all  concessions  for 
exploitation  were  to  be  granted  by  the  Bolivian  Govern- 
ment—  an  arrangement  which  was  a  solid  guarantee  of 
trouble,  as  soon  as  either  one  or  the  other  felt  equal  to 
it.  All  that  was  needed  was  a  match  to  light  the  bonfire, 
and  this  was  provided  by  Peru  in  1878,  when,  financially 
exhausted  and  on  the  extreme  edge  of  bankruptcy  —  her 
guano  deposits  were  pledged  as  security  for  the  foreign 
debt  in  1875,  and  only  her  hopelessly  inadequate  internal 
revenue  was  left  —  she  devised  an  export  duty  on  nitrate 
of  soda.  This,  of  course,  brought  her  output  into  com- 
petition with  the  untaxed  product  of  Chile  and,  by  con- 
sequence, the  European  ships  deserted  the  Peruvian  and 
flocked  to  Chilean  ports.     Peru,  with  ruin  staring  her  in 

329 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

the  face  demanded  that  Bolivia  tax  her  nitrates  in 
Atacama  and  Bohvia  yielded,  thereby  breaking  her  treaty 
of  1874  with  Chile.  Chile,  strong  and  ready,  was  only 
too  glad  of  the  chance,  and  war  followed. 

After  the  ti'eaty  of  Ancon,  courts  were  formed  in 
Santiago  to  deal  with  the  claims  of  foreign  subjects  in 
the  ceded  provinces  of  Tacua,  Arica,  and  Tarapaca  — 
one  court  for  every  country  concerned.  These  were  com- 
posed of  three  members,  the  Head  of  the  Mission,  a 
Chilean  Judge,  and,  as  a  final  and  unbiased  arbitrator, 
a  Brazilian.  The  three  provinces  had  been  ravaged 
and  pillaged  in  the  gentle  fashion  of  South  American 
warfare  and  a  mountain  of  claims  awaited  each  court, 
some  genuine,  many  fraudulent,  but  all  requiring  the 
closest  investigation.  Besides  and  beyond  all  these,  the 
holders  of  the  Peruvian  nitrate  bonds  in  London  and 
elsewhere  were  howling  for  their  money,  and  when  it  is 
borne  in  mind  that  Chile  had  annexed  a  large  part  of  the 
Peruvian  nitrate  fields  without,  as  yet,  assuming  any 
obligation  towards  the  holders  of  the  bonds,  the  cries  — 
to  any  one  acquainted  with  the  psychological  make-up  of 
the  average  British  investor  —  can  be  imagined. 

It  is  curious,  too,  that  of  all  people,  the  British,  proud, 
and  rightly  so,  of  their  coolness  and  their  strength  and 
theii'  sanity,  should,  immediately  the  question  of  a  divi- 
dend, however  small,  is  concerned,  lose  every  one  of  their 
national  attributes;  yet  it  is  so.  The  Englishman  is  apt 
to  be  somewhat  scornful  of  Transatlantic  nervousness  and 
"  brain-storm."  He  will  not  demean  himself  by  entering 
his  office  before  nine  or  staying  a  moment  after  three 

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IN   A    SOUTH   AMERICAN    CAPITAL 

unless  he  is  held  down  in  his  chair;  while  as  for  discuss- 
ing business  at  lunch,  he  would  as  soon  eat  in  public  In 
bathing  clothes,  and  I,  for  one,  would  be  the  very  last  to 
encourage  him  to  break  any  of  those  excellent  habits  of 
mind.  But  have  you,  my  dear  reader,  ever  been  present  at 
a  meeting  of  British  stockholders?  Have  you  ever  seen 
the  badgered  chairman  moisten  his  lips  and  steady  himself 
against  the  table  while  he  announces  to  the  gathering,  a 
drop,  however  small,  however  necessary,  in  the  year's 
dividends?  On  the  other  hand,  have  you  ever  seen  a 
meeting  of  American  stockholders?  Perhaps  a  dozen 
people  present,  perhaps  less?  The  business  carried  on 
in  monosyllables,  a  dividend  doubled  or  wiped  out  with  a 
nod  of  the  head?  Every  individual  stockholder  so  confi- 
dent of  the  wisdom  of  the  person  to  whom  he  has  given 
his  stock  to  vote  that  he  would  not  cross  the  street  to  be 
present?    It  gives  one  to  think,  sometimes. 

To  return  to  the  nitrate  bonds.  One  simultaneous  yell 
went  out  from  England.  Suggestions  poured  in  with 
every  mail  —  suggestions  not  untinged  with  abuse. 
Hugh  was  very  patient,  and  his  Highland  ancestry 
had  given  him  a  sense  of  humour,  that  sword  of  the 
afflicted,  grim  and  keen,  against  whose  edge  the  storm 
burst  In  vain. 

To  be  sure,  every  representative  expects  the  same 
treatment  from  his  countrymen  and  most  of  them  are 
steeled  against  It  by  the  approval,  whether  spoken  or  not, 
of  their  official  superiors.  After  all,  a  little  abuse  Is  no 
bad  advertisement  sometimes,  and  It  has  happened  that 
discontented  people,  sick  of  their  posts  and  worried  as 

331 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

to  their  chances  of  recognition,  have  been  known  deliber- 
ately to  stir  things  up  in  order  to  bring  the  eyes  of  the 
Permanent  Under  Secretary  upon  themselves.  That 
dispenser  of  posts,  maker  of  ambassadors,  framer  of 
policies,  that  Czar,  in  short,  of  the  service  —  more 
powerful  than  any  Secretary  of  State  and  infinitely  more 
knowledgeable  —  does  not  figure  either  in  the  Press  or 
in  the  House,  and  the  reason  is  not  far  to  seek.  He  is 
much  too  busy.  But  he  is  absolute  Lord  of  the  depart- 
ment. He  it  is  who  sees  to  it  that,  whatever  be  the  party 
in  power,  and  however  often  the  fickle  wind  of  popular 
opinion  may  shift,  the  great  ship  shall  keep  its  course. 

We  were  surprised,  however  (a  distraction  not  often 
afforded  to  us),  by  a  communication  from  a  personage 
high  up  in  the  service  itself,  who,  it  appeared,  had  been 
dabbling  in  Peruvian  nitrate  bonds,  a  practice  stringently 
forbidden  to  officials  and  for  the  best  of  reasons.  He  had 
kept  the  fact  very  quiet  up  till  then,  but  the  prospect  of 
having  his  pocket  touched  overcame  even  his  fear  of  the 
P.  U.  S.'s  wrath  and  he  poured  out  his  soul  in  bitter 
reproaches  —  on  official  paper.  Hugh  was  rather  a 
queer  person  in  some  ways.  When  he  might  be  expected, 
and  reasonably,  to  lose  his  temper,  he  would  be  quite 
likely  either  to  laugh,  or  to  display  a  gentleness  so  utterly 
impersonal  and  yet  so  understanding,  so  sympathetic,  and 
so  selfless,  that  one  looked  up  to  him  with  a  certain  awe, 
as  not  being  entirely  of  this  world.  At  others,  a  trifle, 
unnoticed  by  any  one  else,  would  stir  that  Scotch  nature  to 
its  depths,  and  for  days  he  would  brood  over  it,  never 
speaking.      One   was  left   to   conjecture   what  it   might 

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IN   A    SOUTH   AMERICAN    CAPITAL 

have  been,  but  one  never,  never  found  out  —  except  by 
accident. 

This  time  he  did  not  laugh.  His  sense  of  discipline 
was  outraged.  What  he  said  in  his  answer  I  can  only 
imagine,  but  I  have  an  idea  that  all  the  things  he  would 
have  liked  to  have  been  able  to  say  to  all  the  others,  all 
the  stored-up  bitterness  which  he  felt  for  the  Brazilian 
arbitrator  on  the  Court  of  Claims,  and  the  Chilean  Gov- 
ernment —  everything  that  he  felt  for  everybody,  was 
compressed  into  it,  because  he  went  about  his  business 
afterwards  with  the  lightened  mien  of  a  man  who  has 
taken  a  moral  cooling  draft. 

The  rancour  of  the  recipient  followed  us  about  for 
years  afterwards,  but  a  little  more  or  less  of  that  from 
any  quarter  we  should  hardly  have  noticed,  I  am  afraid. 
When  a  man  is  being  lampooned  in  every  paper  in  the 
city  in  which  he  is  living,  when  he  has  faced  and  over- 
borne envy,  injustice,  and  uncharity  at  home  and  abroad, 
he  gets  careless  of  the  venom  of  individuals.  I  do  not 
think  Hugh  would  have  been  happy  if  he  had  been  popu- 
lar. He  would  have  thought  himself  to  have  failed,  in 
some  respect,  of  his  duty. 

I  spoke  just  now  of  the  Brazilian  member  —  the 
supposedly  unbiased  arbitr*ator.  Whoever  it  was  who 
picked  on  the  Brazilian  for  a  post  like  that,  must  have 
been  a  humourist  of  parts.  In  our  own  court,  it  was  the 
Chilean  who  turned  out  to  be  the  unbiased  party,  and 
thanks  to  his  unshakable  uprightness,  the  Brazilian  was 
no  more  than  a  dummy  at  the  board.  The  latter  lived 
in  constant  fear  of  the  inhabitants  of  Santiago,  and  he 

333 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

could  not  be  induced  to  agree  with  anything  that  Hugh 
(at  that  time,  probably  the  best  hated  man  in  South 
America)  said  or  did.  For  some  time  Hugh  and  the 
Chilean  bore  with  him,  striving,  always  in  vain,  to  im- 
plant a  seed  of  courage  and  honesty  in  his  heart.  The 
soil  was  too  mean,  however,  and  they  had  to  abandon  It 
at  last  and  get  along  without  him,  he  protesting  to  every- 
one that  Hugh  was  a  bully  and  a  tyrant  and  the  good 
Chilean  a  corrupt  traitor. 

Besides  the  three  members,  every  court  had  Its  secre- 
taries—  and  nicer,  easier,  better  paid  pieces  of  jobbery 
never  existed.  Everything  that  they  could  do  to  drag 
out  the  proceedings  was  done  —  at  several  thousand 
pesos  a  year. 

For  two  years  Hugh  endured  it,  while  claim  filed  on 
claim.  Of  all,  perhaps  one  In  thirty  was  honest,  and  two, 
after  the  miasma  of  perjury  had  been  cleared  away,  de- 
batable. In  one  typical  case,  a  landed  proprietor  in  Peru 
swore  on  the  Scriptures  that  he  had  legally  transferred 
his  entire  estate  to  the  English  governess  of  his  children, 
long  before  the  war.  In  another,  It  was  solemnly  sworn 
—  but  with  tears,  that  on  account  of  the  generosity  and 
love  that  Britain  had  always  shown  to  Peru,  a  rancher 
had  given  everything  that  he  possessed  to  his  English 
butter-maker,  also  before  the  war! 

For  two  years  Hugh  bore  with  It,  and  then,  seeing 
that  unless  a  halt  was  called  the  Court  would  have  to  sit 
indefinitely  —  he  had  besides  the  whole  business  of  the 
Legation  to  handle  —  he  announced  that  the  majority  of 
the  Court,  —  himself  and  the  Judge,  —  had  decided  to 

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AT   A    SOUTH   AMERICAN    CAPITAL 

compromise  the  rest  of  the  claims  for  one  hundred  thous- 
and dollars. 

The  first  visitor  he  received  the  next  morning  was  the 
Secretary  of  the  Board,  an  Englishman,  almost  hysteri- 
cal with  the  shock.  "  But  you  are  taking  the  bread  out  of 
our  mouths,  Mr.  Eraser!"  he  pleaded,  "think  of  our 
wives  and  families.  Why,  I  assure  you,  we  could  keep 
this  going  for  years  —  years,  sir!  It  makes  no  difference 
to  the  Government  at  home  —  it  is  only  a  tiny  little  sum 
which  they  will  never  miss  —  and  to  us  it  means  every- 
thing! Let  me  beg  of  you,  sir,  to  reconsider  your 
decision." 

The  "  tiny  little  sum  "  was  three  thousand  pounds  a 
year. 

It  was  at  about  this  time  that  Santiago  had  its  first 
experience  of  cholera.  The  scourge  came  in  with  a  drove 
of  cattle  from  Argentina,  some  of  whose  herders  were 
Infected.  Why  it  had  not  happened  before  is  difficult  to 
understand  when  the  habits,  civic  and  domestic,  of  the 
Chileans  are  considered.  Two  of  the  herders  died  on  the 
top  of  the  mountain  where  the  cattle  were  rested,  and 
the  remainder  came  in,  bringing  the  dread  visitor  with 
them. 

Any  one  seeing  the  passes  over  which  travel  moves  be- 
tween the  two  countries  would  believe  it  to  be  impossible 
to  drive  cattle  through  them  at  all.  The  only  road  is  a 
rocky  path,  perhaps  three  feet  wide  at  the  best;  in 
places  there  is  not  room  for  two  people  to  pass  one 
another.  There  are  dark  stories  about  the  road  when 
men,  far  on  their  way,  and  anxious  to  push  on,  have  met 

335 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

in  the  passes  and  decided  the  matter  with  their  knives 
rather  than  turn  back.  It  is  told  how  a  party  —  few 
people  care  to  undertake  that  journey  alone  —  passing 
a  turn  in  the  rock,  saw  an  object  sticking  out  of  a  cleft 
high  above  their  heads.  So  far  up  was  it  that  at  first 
they  could  not  make  it  out,  until  one  of  them,  in  a  scared 
voice,  cried  out  that  it  was  a  boot  —  and  a  boot  it  was,  but 
how,  they  asked  each  other,  could  a  human  being  have 
climbed  up  that  far !  The  thing  was  impossible  —  utterly 
impossible.  Fascinated,  they  stood  there  staring  until, 
after  some  time  had  been  spent,  a  dot  appeared  in  the 
sky  above  them,  circling  down,  which,  as  it  approached, 
resolved  itself  into  a  huge  condor  that  swooped  down  upon 
the  protruding  boot  and  settled  there,  glaring  down  at 
them.  The  mystery  was  solved  and  they  hurried  on  their 
way,  shuddering. 

To  return  to  the  cholera.  Santiago  was  true  to  its 
traditions.  The  doctors  did  what  they  could  with  the 
strange  horror  when  they  realised  It,  but  it  was  too  new 
and  too  appalling  for  them  at  first.  It  lit  on  the  city  in 
a  night  and  the  city  hugged  it  to  its  bosom.  There  were 
no  drains  in  Santiago  and  the  hygiene  was  that  of  Carth- 
age. The  favourite  diet  of  all  classes  was  raw  fruit  and 
aguardiente.  In  a  week  the  burial  carts  were  out  — 
open  carts,  whose  drivers  mingled  freely  with  the  rest  of 
the  world.  No  attempt  was  made  for  a  long  time  to 
isolate,  and  when  the  order  went  out  nobody  paid  any 
particular  attention  to  it. 

To  us,  who  had  lived  so  long  in  the  East,  the  thing 
was  no  stranger,  and,  as  soon  as  the  first  symptoms  ap- 

336 


IN    A    SOUTH   AMERICAN    CAPITAL 

peared  In  the  town  we  took  our  precautions  with  the 
practised  accuracy  of  an  evolution.  All  raw  fruit  was 
confiscated,  the  water  boiled,  medicines  prepared,  the  filthy 
paper  money  baked  in  an  oven,  and  a  state  of  siege  pro- 
claimed. Every  day  I  used  to  go  through  the  house, 
into  every  nook  and  corner,  to  find  out  what  contraband 
the  servants  had  smuggled  in  over  night.  They  were  all 
offenders,  but  my  English  Clara  was  the  worst.  That 
well-brought-up  person  —  she  was  educated  for  a  school 
mistress  —  listened  with  deep  and  respectful  attention 
to  my  sermons,  and  was  at  all  times  ready  to  denounce 
the  stupidity  and  wickedness  of  the  native  domestics. 
They  were  ignorant  people  from  whom  nothing  else  was 
to  be  expected.  I  believed  in  her  implicitly  until  I  looked 
into  her  bedroom  one  day,  when  I  discovered  an  enor- 
mous watermelon  hidden  under  the  bed,  and  never  after- 
wards when  I  made  my  rounds  did  I  fail  to  find  one  — 
always  under  the  bed. 

After  a  while  the  Government  instituted  a  series  of 
lectures  to  try  and  make  the  public  understand  some- 
thing of  the  nature  of  the  infection  and  the  more  ele- 
mentary defences  against  its  spread.  But  without  much 
success.  The  Chilean  of  the  lower  classes  Is  not  quick 
of  understanding.  On  one  of  these  occasions,  when  the 
lecture  had  finished,  an  old  peasant  got  up  in  the  back  of 
the  hall  and,  being  Invited  to  speak,  called  out,  "  Doctor, 
tell  me  now  what  kind  of  a  bird  this  cholera  Is,  so  that 
I  may  know  it  when  It  comes !  I  am  a  good  shot,  a  very 
good  shot  —  and  I  will  kill  it." 

At  another  time,  when  the  lecturer  was  explaining  the 

337 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

necessity  of  placing  a  cordon  of  police  around  the  in- 
fected quarters,  he  was  asked  by  a  woman  present  if  he 
could  give  her  a  little  bit  of  cordon  which  she  could  tie 
around  the  house  and  so  keep  away  the  plague.  She 
thought  it  to  be  a  sort  of  charm. 

Then  the  medical  students,  filled  with  misguided  en- 
thusiasm, took  to  visiting  houses  on  their  own  account 
to  rout  out  stricken  ones.  Discovering  a  woman,  evi- 
dently very  ill,  in  her  bed,  they  pulled  her  out,  disregard- 
ing her  entreaties,  and  hurried  her  off  to  the  hospital 
in  a  cart.  This  was  some  distance  away,  the  cart  had  no 
springs,  and  the  road  was  rough.  Her  groans  and  suppli- 
cations continued  until  they  reached  the  door  of  the 
hospital  and  lifted  her  from  the  cart,  when  she  fell  down 
on  the  pavement  and  —  gave  birth  to  a  baby. 

A  short  time  afterwards  they  came  one  evening  upon 
what  they  took  to  be  a  corpse  in  the  street.  Nobody 
wanted  to  waste  any  time  on  it,  so  they  slid  it  into  the 
death  cart  and  resumed  their  journey  to  the  lime  pits 
where  the  corpses  were  buried,  threw  it  in  with  the  rest, 
and  emptied  a  bucket  of  chloride  of  lime  over  it.  Imagine 
their  feelings  when  it  woke  up,  cursing  like  a  maniac  and 
scrabbling  at  the  sides  of  the  pit!  The  "corpse"  had 
been  hopelessly  drunk  and  was  lying  down  to  sleep  it 
off  when  they  found  him.  The  lime  on  face  and  hands 
had  recalled  the  sleeper  to  consciousness  ! 

At  last  the  authorities  woke  up  to  the  danger  of 
aguardiente,  and  decreed  the  destruction  of  all  that 
could  be  found.  It  was  declared  to  be  a  public  danger, 
and  the  emissaries  of  the  city  council  started  on  their 

33S 


IN    A    SOUTH   AMERICAN    CAPITAL 

rounds.  At  every  place  where  they  came  upon  it,  they 
brought  the  casks  out  into  the  street  and  tapped  them. 
Santiago  was  one  wild  debauch  for  a  week.  The  streets 
were  running  with  spirits. 

For  two  years  the  cholera  raged  and  then,  satiated  with 
victims,  passed  on;  but  not  before  the  gentle  inhabitants 
had  had  an  opportunity  of  showing  their  feelings  for 
Hugh.  One  dark  night  a  cart  drew  up  before  the  Lega- 
tion and,  when  the  door  was  opened,  a  man  in  filthy 
clothes,  reeking  of  disinfectants,  attempted  to  enter. 
Being  asked  what  he  wanted,  he  seemed  surprised.  "  I 
have  come  for  the  British  Minister,"  he  said,  "  let  me  in." 
"  But  what  do  you  want  of  him?  "  asked  the  terrified  ser- 
vant. "  I  want  to  take  him  away,"  replied  the  other,  "  do 
not  attempt  to  interfere  with  me  or  you  will  suffer  for  it." 
"  Take  him  away,"  stammered  the  servant,  "  but  what 
do  you  mean?  "  "  I  am  the  collector  of  corpses,"  was  the 
answer.  "  They  told  me  that  he  was  dead  of  the  cholera 
and  that  I  was  to  take  him  off  with  the  others  —  there 
is  the  dead  cart  right  there !  " 

Hugh  laughed,  as  he  was  told,  and  seemed  to  find  it 
quite  amusing,  but  I  did  not  get  over  the  effect  of  it  for  a 
long  time. 

The  more  civilised  inhabitants  of  Santiago,  indeed,  the 
better  class  all  over  the  country,  loved  to  speak  of  the 
capital  city  as  the  Paris  of  South  America.  If  Paris  is 
the  place  where  all  good  North  Americans  go  when  they 
die,  it  is  the  place  where  all  good  —  i.  e.  rich  —  South 
Americans  go  when  they  are  alive.  It  is  the  Valhalla 
of  the   struggling  merchant   and  the   sanctuary  of   the 

339 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATISTS  WIFE 

distressed  president.  Not  a  person  in  high  places,  stealing 
judiciously  from  the  public  purse,  not  a  rancher,  spend- 
ing summer  and  winter  in  the  arid  country,  but  dreams 
of  it,  reads  of  it,  lives  for  the  prospect  of  it;  even  to 
possess  something,  a  dress,  a  hat,  a  pair  of  shoes,  a  tea- 
pot, a  piece  of  linen  that  came  from  Paris,  is  to  be  a 
source  of  envy  to  all.  In  spite  of  heavy  customs  duties, 
everything  Parisian,  from  hats  to  novels,  finds  a  quick 
sale  in  Santiago.  But  the  inhabitants,  like  Gilpin,  never 
forget  the  principles  of  frugality.  They  will  eat  and  drink 
and  play  with  the  best  that  Paris  affords,  when  they  are 
there,  but  they  will  not  neglect  any  chance  to  recoup  them- 
selves, as  the  following  story  will  show. 

The  B.'s,  a  family  of  our  acquaintance,  well-to-do 
financially  and  politically,  at  last  found  themselves  able 
to  make  the  journey  to  their  earthly  Paradise.  They 
desired,  without  telling  anybody,  to  bring  back  with 
them  a  great  luxury,  a  French  tutor,  the  effect  of 
which  would  be  to  give  them  a  position  at  home  some- 
where a  little  above  the  cabinet.  Once  in  Paris,  after 
a  morning  or  two  amongst  the  shops,  it  occurred  to  Papa 
B.  that  with  a  little  expenditure  of  time  and  money,  not 
only  could  the  fares  to  and  from  home  be  paid  for,  but 
a  tidy  little  profit  might  be  made  off  of  the  trip  as  a  whole. 
Knowing  his  countrymen's  passion  for  everything  Paris- 
ian, and  counting  on  their  ignorance  of  values  and 
prices,  he  set  about  collecting  a  pile  of  odds  and  ends, 
remnants  and  clearings  of  all  sorts,  from  jewelry  to  hand- 
kerchiefs, paying  particular  attention  to  "  plaque  "  and 
gaudy  porcelain.     In  a  very  short  while  he  had  accumu- 

340 


IN   A    SOUTH   AMERICAN    CAPITAL 

lated  all  that  he  could  carry  and  then,  secure  and  content, 
turned  his  attention  to  pleasure. 

When,  months  afterwards,  they  returned  and  settled 
down  once  more  in  the  family  palatio,  they  sent  out 
cards  inviting  their  acquaintances  to  a  sale  of  Parisian 
goods  specially  brought  over  by  Serior  B.  for  the  benefit 
of  his  friends.  It  was  so  put,  I  remember,  that  the 
entire  burden  of  obligation  rested  on  the  acquaintances' 
shoulders  for  the  Serior  B.'s  unheard-of  thoughtfulness  — 
it  takes  a  Latin  to  do  it.  Of  course  everybody  attended, 
the  Diplomatic  Corps  with  all  the  rest,  for  false  pride 
does  not  exist  down  there.  There  is  no  leisured  class. 
Everybody  does  something.  It  was  rather  a  jar  at  first 
to  have  a  young  Englishman  brought  to  me,  as  a  par- 
ticularly eligible  person,  and,  after  asking  him  to  dinner 
on  one  night,  to  run  across  him  behind  a  counter  on 
the  next  afternoon,  but  I  very  soon  got  used  to  it.  I 
was  not  a  snob  —  but  I  had  never  had  such  a  thing 
happen  to  me  before.  The  world  I  knew  moved 
around  its  individual  countries,  services,  and  affairs. 
It  worked  as  hard  as  any  other,  but  it  worked  at  other 
things. 

Well,  people  trooped  to  the  B.'s,  as  much  to  see  the 
family  and  hear  the  account  of  their  adventure  as  for  the 
prospect  of  picking  up  something  useful.  And  very  few 
were  disappointed.  Papa  B.  had  not  been  a  successful 
politician  for  nothing  and  he  had  common  sense  if  he  had 
not  taste.  Predominating  and  gorgeous,  were  sets  of 
plate  —  "  magnlfico  plaque  "  as  it  was  called  —  and  these 
disappeared   first,   being   literally   scrambled   for.     Just 

341 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

why,  in  a  country  where  silver  Is  almost  everywhere, 
plated  ware  should  be  so  desired  may  seem  strange.  The 
reason  Is  that  the  Chilean  is  the  worst  and  cleverest  thief 
in  the  world.  There  Is  nothing  that  is  beyond  him,  and 
the  careful  housekeeper  feels  the  risk  of  having  anything 
of  great  value  where  a  thief  may  be  able  to  find  it.  For 
all  that,  sparkle  and  glitter  are  essential,  wherefore  the 
plate.  It  is  too  heavy  and  profitless  for  a  burglar  to 
burden  himself  with. 

The  sale  was  conducted  by  the  tutor,  who  was  a  charm- 
ing young  man  with  a  most  seductive  manner,  and,  by 
the  time  he  had  finished,  there  was  very  little  left,  and 
Papa  B.  was  rubbing  his  hands  and  patting  the  tutor  on 
the  back.  Well  he  might.  He  had  had  his  trip.  For 
the  rest  of  his  life,  like  the  green-turbaned  Mohamme- 
dan, he  could  lift  up  his  head  above  his  fellows,  as  one 
who  had  been  to  Mecca  —  and  he  had  made  a  profit 
on  It  too,  besides  the  continual  glory  of  the  French  tutor 
in  his  household. 

Speaking  of  the  thieves,  it  was,  as  I  have  said,  and 
probably  Is  still  the  habit,  winter  and  summer  alike,  for 
all  the  population  to  dress  itself  up  in  its  best  clothes 
after  supper  and  walk  for  a  couple  of  hours  or  so  around 
the  band  stand  In  the  Commerclo.  In  winter  It  was  dark, 
and  then  the  Apaches  gathered  their  harvest.  Not  so 
much  by  any  gentle  pocket-picking  in  the  Commerclo,  but 
in  the  more  lonely  streets  among  stray  couples  return- 
ing home.  On  more  than  one  occasion  people  have  been 
found,  men  and  women  alike,  stripped  naked  in  the  street 
with  not  so  much  as  a  shift  between  them.    The  favour- 

342 


IN    A   SOUTH   AMERICAN    CAPITAL 

ite  method,  though,  is  by  means  of  long  fishllnes  to  the 
end  of  which  are  attached  a  cluster  of  enormous  hooks. 
These  they  throw  through  the  gratings  of  open  windows 
of  the  basements  and  the  ground  floor,  and  the  hooks  are 
strong  enough  to  bring  down  curtains  or  drag  cabinets. 
They  are  as  clever  with  them  as  a  good  fisherman  with  a 
fly  and  they  can  empty  a  room  in  an  incredibly  short  time, 
as  a  woman  who  had  incautiously  left  her  baby  asleep 
with  the  window  open  in  the  twilight  found  out.  She 
was  not  away  for  more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  but 
when  she  returned  she  found  the  baby  howling  with  the 
cold,  its  very  blankets  taken,  and  the  room  as  bare  as  a 
hand. 

A  friend  of  mine  told  me  of  one  experience  she  had, 
which  made  me  very  cautious  of  strangers,  however  re- 
spectable they  might  seem.  Coming  in  from  a  drive  one 
afternoon,  she  saw  a  man,  faultlessly  attired  and  of  quite 
unexceptionable  bearing,  walk  out  of  the  door  as  she 
crossed  the  court.  She  did  not  know  him,  but,  as  he 
met  her  eyes  with  perfect  self-possession  and  bowed  to 
her,  not  too  deeply,  but  as  equal  bows  to  equal,  she 
imagined  that  it  must  be  some  friend  of  her  husband's, 
who  had  been  to  see  him.  Inside  she  inquired  who  had 
called  in  her  absence,  and  the  servant,  to  her  astonish- 
ment, replied  that  no  one  had  been  there  at  all.  "  But 
who  was  the  gentleman  who  had  just  left?"  she  asked. 
The  servant  shook  his  head.  He  had  seen  no  one.  What 
did  the  gentleman  look  like?  Of  course,  he  immediately 
conceived  that  his  mistress  had  seen  a  ghost,  and  shut 
the  door,  which  he  had  been  holding  open,  abruptly.    My 

343 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

friend,  however,  began  to  suspect  something  else,  and 
went  to  her  husband's  room  where  the  valuables  of  the 
family  were  kept,  tightly  locked  up  in  a  safe. 

There,  when  she  looked  in,  she  saw  a  heap  of  rags 
on  the  floor,  the  drawers  of  the  presses  open,  shirts, 
ties,  handkerchiefs  tossed  in  every  direction,  together 
with  coats,  waistcoats,  and  trousers. 

The  man  had  calmly  walked  in  and  taken  the  pick  of 
the  clothing,  without  hurrying,  and  choosing  everything 
carefully.  He  had  brushed  his  hair,  washed,  and  then, 
comfortable  and  clean,  had  walked  out  again. 

The  police  are  no  great  protection  either.  It  is  re- 
corded that,  in  our  predecessor's  time,  when  the  Legation 
was  in  another  house,  a  hole  was  discovered  one  morning 
in  the  basement  adobe  wall  big  enough  for  a  man  to 
walk  through  and  a  further  search  revealed  the  fact  that 
a  large  part  of  the  silver  had  disappeared  from  the  din- 
ing-room. The  police  were  sent  for  and  went  diligently 
to  work,  sympathising  deeply  and  apologising  for  the 
state  of  things  that  permitted  of  such  depredations. 
They  were  too  few,  they  said,  to  deal  with  all  the  ruffians 
in  the  city.  The  people  were,  as  the  Excellency  knew, 
carelessness  itself — actually  they  were  afraid  to  com- 
plain! Could  the  Excellency  believe  it?  The  Excellency 
could,  I  have  no  doubt.  For  a  week  the  indefatigable 
police  worked,  measuring  the  hole  and  searching  for 
clues  and,  incidentally,  being  well  cared  for  by  the  ser- 
vants who  regaled  them  with  the  Minister's  stores,  until 
the  latter  grew  tired  of  their  continued  presence  and  went 
into  the  matter  himself.     He   studied  the  hole   for  a 

344 


IN    A    SOUTH   AMERICAN    CAPITAL 

while,  looking  at  the  marks  of  the  implements,  and,  pres- 
ently, it  struck  him  that  the  slashes  had  been  made  with 
a  blade,  not  with  a  knife;  they  were  too  long  and  too 
broad  for  that.  The  robber  had  used  a  sword  —  but 
only  the  police  carried  swords  —  the  police  and  soldiers. 
There  were  no  cavalry  there  at  the  time,  and  very  few 
infantry.  The  affair  seemed  to  narrow  itself  down  to 
the  police.  To  have  accused  them  would  have  been 
somewhat  rash,  even  for  so  important  a  person  as  the 
British  Minister,  however,  and  it  was  only  by  careful 
inquiry  below  stairs  that  the  truth  was  finally  brought 
to  light.     It  was  the  police. 

In  the  same  connection,  I  remember  a  little  English- 
man who  used  to  keep  a  grocery  shop,  I  think,  and  who, 
on  occasions  of  state,  would  come  in  and  wait  at  table. 
One  night,  having  finished  his  work  at  the  Legation,  he 
started  home  with  his  pay  for  the  evening  in  his  pocket. 
It  was  late  when  he  left,  but  there  was  a  moon,  and  his 
way  led  through  the  most  civilised  part  of  the  town,  so 
that  he  felt  reasonably  safe  against  the  Apaches  who, 
as  a  rule,  did  not  venture  to  any  great  distance  from 
their  own  warrens.  But,  as  he  found  before  he  had  gone 
very  far,  there  were  several  kinds  of  Apaches,  some  in 
uniform  and  some  out;  for  two  of  the  former  fell  upon 
him  at  the  corner  of  the  street  and  cleared  him  out  com- 
pletely, down  to  his  watch-chain.  When  the  attention 
of  the  police  was  drawn  to  the  affair  —  "drawn"  may 
be  somewhat  inexpressive  —  they  were  politely  aston- 
ished that  a  person  in  his  Excellency's  position  could 
bring  such  accusations  against  honest  men.     They  were 

345 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

smitten  to  the  heart  by  the  injustice.  As  it  happened, 
they  said,  two  poHcemen's  uniforms  had  been  stolen  a 
few  days  before  and  the  men  who  had  attacked  our  little 
friend  were,  of  course,  the  thieves  who  had  taken 
them! 


346 


XV 

SPANISH-AMERICAN    WAYS    AND    TRADITIONS 

Treacherous  Sisters  —  The  "  Toothache  "  Signal  —  A  Young  Diplomatist 
in  Guatemala  —  Forgotten?  —  An  Unauthorised  Flight  —  Remembered 
Music  —  A  Little  "  Pronunciamento  "  — The  Christmas  Fair  in  Santiago 
—  A  Tireless  Dancer  —  Turn  on  the  Hose !  —  Country  Dandies  and  Their 
Splendours  —  What  the  Girls  Learn  —  Strange  Funeral  Customs  —  Un- 
explained !  —  A  Were-wolf  of  the  Campagna. 

AS  has  been  already  said,  the  custom  of  gathering 
all  the  daughters'  husbands  and  their  children 
under  one  roof,  gave  rise  to  developments,  sometimes. 
The  men,  of  course,  stayed  out  all  day,  only  returning  for 
their  meals.  Whether  they  were  working  or  not,  out  they 
stayed.  It  was  a  hard  and  fast  law  and,  no  doubt,  a 
very  good  one. 

Some  of  the  women  had  a  sense  of  humour,  too, 
though  it  is  a  rather  rougher  one  than  our  own.  One 
young  friend  of  mine,  recently  married,  and  who,  being 
an  orphan,  was  to  be  taken  into  her  husband's  family, 
told  me  that,  just  after  her  return  from  her  honeymoon, 
her  sisters-in-law  came  to  her  one  morning  and  sug- 
gested that  they  should  all  go  to  the  opera  that  evening. 
"  But,"  they  added,  "  let  us  not  dress  —  let  us  go  just  as 
we  are."  She  looked  from  one  to  the  other.  Go  to  the 
opera  in  morning  dress?  Lose  the  one  great  chance  of 
the  year  of  putting  on  all  one's  jewels?    But  they  seemed 

347 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

to  be  perfectly  serious,  so,  for  the  sake  of  politeness, 
she  acquiesced.  "  Now  you  will  not  dress  and  put  us 
all  to  shame?  "  they  said,  as  they  went.  "  I  would  not 
put  you  to  shame  for  the  world,  my  dear  sisters,"  she  re- 
plied, and  they  went  on  their  way. 

Not  dress?  she  laughed.  The  others  could  look  after 
themselves.  She  was  not  going  to  be  ridiculous  to  please 
them  or  any  one  else,  and  when  the  time  came,  she  put 
on  her  most  beautiful  frock,  and  waited,  a  blaze  of 
jewels,  for  the  signal.  "  Come  on,"  cried  one  of  the 
sisters,  through  the  door.  "  The  carriage  is  waiting. 
Put  on  a  shawl  and  be  quick."  "  I  am  coming,  my  dears," 
she  called  back.  "  I  shall  not  be  a  moment."  And,  when 
she  was  sure  that  the  other  had  gone  on,  she  left  her 
room  and  went  downstairs,  to  find  her  sisters  waiting, 
only  in  the  fullest  of  full  dress,  and  ready  to  shriek  with 
laughter. 

The  main  characteristic  of  the  Chilean  is  an  almost 
sumptuous  carelessness,  a  conservatism  that  makes  Russia 
seem  a  home  of  progress  by  comparison,  and  a  pride  in 
the  pure  Spanish  blood  that  is  worthy  of  an  Austrian. 

A  trace  of  Irish,  to  be  sure,  is  esteemed,  as  well  it  may 
be  when  one  remembers  that  it  was  an  O'Higgins  who 
liberated  them  —  and  many  of  their  names  are  as  Irish 
as  their  habits. 

To  cite  an  instance  of  the  latter,  when  a  friend  of 
ours  —  none  other  than  the  Judge  who  had  sat  with  Hugh 
on  the  Court  of  Claims,  built  himself  a  gorgeous  new 
palatio,  on  the  very  day  that  the  family  moved  in,  it 
rained  all  night  and  well  into  the  following  morning.    One 

348 


SPANISH-AMERICAN    WAYS,    TRADITIONS 

question  only  was  asked  of  them  by  their  acquaintances 
when  they  showed  themselves  in  the  Commercio  that 
evening.  "  In  how  many  places?  "  What  they  wanted 
to  know  was,  in  how  many  places  the  roof  leaked.  "  Not 
in  one,"  the  family  cried.  "  Not  in  one,"  they  were  hon- 
estly prouder  of  that  than  of  anything  that  had  happened 
to  them  for  a  long  time. 

Our  own  roof  leaked  copiously  —  like  all  the  others, 
it  was  made  of  mud  —  and  when  it  rained,  I  had  to  put 
pans  all  over  the  drawing-room  to  save  the  carpets.  At 
first  I  used  to  be  rather  ashamed  of  them  but,  as  nobody 
else  seemed  to  notice  them,  I  ceased  to  worry,  after  a 
time. 

The  worst  curse  of  Chile  is  that  same  "  aguardiente  " 
of  which  I  spoke.  In  all  the  countries  which  I  have  vis- 
ited, I  have  seen  nothing  at  all  like  the  drunkenness  in 
Santiago.  It  is  taken  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  nobody 
seems  to  think  the  worse  of  a  man  for  being  overtaken. 

For  some  time  after  our  arrival,  Hugh  and  I  used  to 
be  puzzled  at  the  prevalence  of  toothache  in  the  town. 
Every  day  one  would  see  men  in  the  streets,  frock-coated 
and  top-hatted,  their  faces  almost  hidden  by  a  great  hand- 
kerchief tied  around  their  jaws  —  not  one  or  two  or 
occasionally,  but  half  a  dozen  at  a  time  and  on  every  day 
of  the  week.  Later  we  found  out  that  it  was  a  signal  and 
meant,  "  I  was  drinking  last  night.  Do  not  speak  to  me  !  " 
It  was  respected,  too,  by  men  and  women  alike.  Hugh's 
first  sight  of  it  was  when  he  called  upon  the  President. 
After  ringing  the  bell  three  or  four  times,  he  was  pre- 
paring to  depart,  when  the  door  was  opened  by  a  villain- 

349 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

ous-looking  creature,  unshaved  and  unwashed,  in  clothes 
that  hung  on  him  like  tattered  sails  and  with  a  grimy 
towel  tied  around  his  head.  Hugh  thought  he  must  have 
come  to  the  wrong  door,  but  no.  The  apparition  was 
the  President's  butler  —  and  the  President  did  not  seem 
to  notice  anything  amiss  with  him. 

These  things  were  more  of  a  shock  to  me  than  to 
Hugh,  for  it  was  not  his  first  experience  of  tropical  and 
semi-tropical  America.  Early  in  his  career,  after  a  de- 
lightful time  at  Copenhagen,  the  Eye  turned  for  a 
moment  in  his  direction,  and  decided  that  he  had  en- 
joyed himself  to  the  extreme  limit  permitted  a  public 
servant  of  his  years  and  service.  It  was  time  to  give  him 
a  glimpse  of  the  other  side  of  the  picture,  and  he  was 
transferred  to  Guatemala,  where,  his  chief  instantly 
going  on  leave,  he  remained,  as  representative,  or  Charge 
d'Affaires,  or  anything  that  he  chose  to  call  himself,  with 
responsibilities  in  five  separate  Republics. 

His  headquarters  were  in  the  new  town  of  Guatemala, 
his  staff  a  native  clerk,  and  his  only  means  of  travel  was 
a  mule.  He  used  to  tell  me  how  he  would  journey  from 
capital  to  capital  through  the  forest,  In  uniform,  cocked 
hat  and  all,  this  latter  for  the  benefit  of  any  stray  bandits 
that  might  have  been  driven  there  for  shelter.  They 
would  not  touch  a  foreign  representative,  in  a  cocked  hat 
and  gold  lace,  though  they  might  have  made  a  mistake 
and  cut  his  throat  in  mufti.  England  was  a  word  to  con- 
jure with  in  those  times.  Of  all  the  powers  she  was  the 
only  one  who  persisted  in  the  reprehensible  practice  of 
exacting  an  eye  for  an  eye  and  a  tooth  for  a  tooth.    In 

350 


SPANISH-AMERICAN    WAYS,    TRADITIONS 

times  of  trouble,  the  number  of  foreigners,  including,  it 
must  be  said,  citizens  of  the  United  States,  who  would 
flock  to  the  British  Consulates  to  register  their  allegiance 
to  Queen  Victoria  was  an  amazing  tribute  to  the  busi- 
ness-like habits  of  the  F.  O.,  in  those  departed  days. 

It  was  not  until  a  year  and  a  half  had  sped  that  a 
dreadful  doubt  began  to  enter  Hugh's  mind.  His  mail 
grew  scantier  and  scantier.  His  chief  had  not  returned. 
Appeals  for  directions  were  unanswered,  and  the  F.  O. 
turned  a  deaf  ear  to  his  suggestions  of  an  exchange. 
They  were  beginning  to  forget  all  about  him !  Stories 
came  back  to  him  of  the  fate  of  other  promising  young 
diplomatists  in  similar  positions  —  stories  which  he  had 
enjoyed  heartily  in  the  safe  legations  of  Europe.  He 
began  to  brood  over  his  troubles,  even  going  so  far  as 
to  cuff  the  native  clerk  at  times.  At  last,  he  saw  plainly 
that  his  only  salvation  was  to  break  the  shackles  of 
discipline  and  save  himself.  Whatever  trouble  he  got 
into  on  his  return  would  be  as  nothing  compared  to  a 
protracted  and  neglected  existence  in  Guatemala.  So, 
early  one  morning,  before  the  native  clerk  appeared,  he 
dressed,  packed  up  his  things,  locked  up  the  Legation, 
put  the  key  under  the  door,  and  sailed  away  for  England. 

Arriving,  shamefacedly,  and,  by  this  time,  somewhat 
afraid  of  the  consequences  of  his  precipitancy,  he  was 
shown  Into  the  office  of  Authority  and  told  his  tale.  Au- 
thority was  infinitely  amused.  "  Good  Lord,  my  dear 
boy!  "  It  said.  "  We  expected  you  home  ages  ago  —  we 
had  no  idea  that  you  would  last  It  out  as  long  as  that !  " 

But,  in  spite  of  the  climate  and  the  loneliness,  Hugh 

351 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

found  several  things  there  which  were  pleasant  enough. 
He  was  of  a  philosophic  temperament  and  he  never 
wasted  time  and  effort  in  complaint  when  complaint  was 
useless.  Later  in  life  he  appeared  not  to  notice  ordinary 
discomforts  and  inconveniences  at  all.  If  he  did,  he  never 
allowed  any  one  to  know  of  it.  I  remember  once  In  Japan, 
when  I  had  been  away  from  the  Legation  for  a  couple 
of  days,  I  asked  the  English  butler  what  he  had  given 
him  for  dinner  the  evening  before.  "  We  gave  his  Ex- 
cellency a  very  good  dinner.  Madam,"  he  replied  assur- 
ingly,  "a  real  old-fashioned  English  dinner  —  boiled 
bacon  and  cabbage,  Madam !  "  and  Hugh  had  never  said 
a  word ! 

At  first  Hugh  thought  Guatemala  and  his  new-found 
honours  and  responsibilities  delightful  —  in  the  light  of 
four  pounds  a  day  —  and,  as  soon  as  his  chief  had  de- 
parted, he  determined  to  carry  out  his  duties  and  visit 
each  of  the  five  Republics  under  his  charge.  Having 
been  advised  by  his  father  to  sleep  under  a  mosquito  net 
if  he  wished  to  avoid  fever,  —  old  Sir  John  had  discov« 
ered  the  secret  of  malaria,  in  India,  sixty  years  or  more 
before  science  tumbled  upon  it  by  accident,  —  he  kept  his 
health,  and,  altogether,  he  did  not  have  a  bad  time, 
despite  the  scorpions  and  snakes  in  the  houses  where  he 
stopped.  There  were  many  interesting  things  to  see,  and, 
among  others,  the  Copan  stone  monuments.  On  these 
he  wrote  a  monograph  asserting  that  the  builders  were 
Mongolians  who  crossed  over  the  straits  from  the  north 
and  wandered  down  —  a  theory,  by  the  way,  which  has 
lately  been  upheld  by  archaeology. 

352 


SPANISH-AMERICAN    WAYS,    TRADITIONS 

It  is  difficult,  at  this  time  of  day,  to  believe  it,  but  when 
he  got  to  Honduras  and  sent  in  his  card  as  British  Charge 
d'Aftaires  to  the  President,  or  whoever  it  was  who  sat 
on  the  throne,  that  Dignitary  looked  it  over  and  then 
burst  out:  "Who  the  Devil  are  you!  I  never  heard  of 
any  such  person!"  He  never  had,  either,  and  it  took 
Hugh  some  time  to  explain  himself. 

At  another  place,  where  he  was  able  to  discard  the 
mule  for  a  while  and  arrived  in  the  capital  in  a  stage 
wagon,  the  waiters  rushed  out  of  the  hotel  with  blankets. 
These,  it  seemed,  were  to  cover  up  the  nakedness  of  the 
travellers  who,  thanks  to  the  brigands,  arrived,  as  often 
as  not,  in  a  state  of  nature. 

One  thing,  he  always  said,  was  really  delightful,  and 
that  was  when,  the  glaring  day  done  and  the  magic  of 
the  darkness  fallen  over  the  city,  the  young  men  would 
come  out  with  their  guitars  and  sing  to  the  girls,  who 
listened  from  behind  the  grilled  windows.  There  it  was 
that  he  got  his  guitar,  which  afterwards  pi^oved  to  be 
one  of  the  great  comforts  of  his  life,  a  friend  that  never 
failed  to  soothe  his  soul  when  it  descended  into  the  pit 
of  Celtic  depression.  And  the  marvellous  airs !  I  cannot 
remember  them,  I  am  afraid,  but  I  know  that  no  music 
that  I  have  ever  heard  was  sweeter  than  that  which  he 
would  whistle  sometimes  of  an  evening,  strumming  the 
accompaniment  on  the  guitar.  The  songs  had  a  lightness 
and  a  cheer  which  Italian  music  lacks,  and  an  enchant- 
ment which  brought  the  dark,  cool  street,  the  pungent 
smell  of  the  dust,  the  whispering  girls,  and  the  whole 
half-savage,  half-civilised  romance  of  the  place  before 

353 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

one,  as  though  one  were  there  oneself,  leaning  over  the 
balcony  and  drinking  it  all  in. 

He  used  to  tell  me,  too,  of  the  strange  entertainments^ 
where  all  the  men  gathered  on  one  side  of  the  room  and 
all  the  women  on  the  other,  and  where  only  two  sorts 
of  refreshments  were  served  —  brandy  for  the  men  and 
rosolio  for  the  women  —  this  latter,  a  concoction  not 
unlike  the  peach  or  cherry  brandy  of  our  own  country. 

Latin  America  has  not  changed  and  never  will  change. 
It  was  not  so  very  long  ago  that  an  Englishman,  landing 
somewhere  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Lima,  one  evening, 
walked  up  the  street,  admiring  the  music  of  the  bands  and 
the  wonderful  sprlghtliness  and  cheer  of  the  inhabitants, 
and  cast  his  eyes  up  to  the  steeple  of  the  Cathedral. 
Far  up  in  the  darkening  blue  he  perceived  two  shapes  sus- 
pended. Thinking  It  to  be  one  of  the  queer  semi-pagan, 
seml-rellglous  customs  to  which  Latins  are  supposed  to  be 
prone,  he  turned  to  the  man  who  was  carrying  his  bags, 
and,  pointing  up,  asked  him  what  It  meant.  "  Oh,  those," 
said  the  porter,  "  with  respect,  we  had  a  little  affair  yester- 
day." "Yes?"  said  the  Englishman,  leaning  back  on 
his  stick,  "  something  to  do  with  the  Church,  I  suppose 
—  some  festival,  eh?  "  "  In  a  sense,"  replied  the  porter. 
"A  little  —  how  shall  I  say  —  pronunciamento  !  Yes," 
as  the  Englishman  started,  "  and  those  two  are  the  late 
President  and  the  Minister  for  War." 

At  Christmas  time,  the  city  of  Santiago  devoted  itself  to 
a  three  days'  Fair,  From  far  and  near  the  country  people 
came  trooping  in,  bringing  their  entire  establishments 
with  them.     So  great  was  the  fear  of  the  brigands  that 

354 


SPANISH-AMERICAN    WAYS,    TRADITIONS 

no  one  left  anything,  on  the  farms  or  in  the  houses,  that 
could  be  stolen.  They  settled  themselves  down  all  along 
the  Alameda,  on  which  the  Legation  stood,  and  camped 
on  the  pavement,  with  their  horses,  their  cows,  calves, 
chickens,  dogs,  and  cats  by  them  —  all  in  sheds,  which 
were  also  used,  in  many  cases,  as  booths  for  the  sale  of 
the  horrible  chicha,  a  ferociously  raw  wine,  besides  cakes 
and  sweetmeats  of  brilliant  colours  and  unknown  in- 
gredients. Christmas,  in  those  latitudes,  is,  as  everyone 
knows,  the  mid-summer,  and  the  memory  of  that  one  will 
remain  with  me  for  ever.  I  had  to  shut  every  window 
in  the  house,  in  spite  of  the  suffocating  heat,  and,  even 
so,  the  sounds  and  smells  from  the  Alameda  found  their 
way  In.  When  it  is  remembered  that  rain  falls  only  in 
June  and  July  and  at  no  other  time,  our  sufferings  may 
be  understood. 

It  was  Interesting,  though,  when  we  could  forget  the 
heat,  to  watch  the  activities  outside.  In  front  of  the 
drawing-room  windows  a  dancing  girl  had  spread  a 
square  of  carpet,  and  all  the  young  country  dandies,  in 
their  huge  hats,  velvet  clothes,  high  boots,  and  silver  spurs 
—  the  rowels  of  the  latter  were  seven  or  eight  Inches  long 
and  the  boot  heels  so  high  that  only  the  toe  touched  the 
ground  —  came  up  one  after  another  to  dance  with  her. 
All  day  long  she  whirled  around,  never  ceasing.  As 
one  cavalier  tired,  another  came  up,  and  went  on,  but 
she  never  paused  even  for  breath,  that  I  could  see.  The 
last  thing  I  saw  as  I  looked  out  of  the  window,  at  night, 
was  the  girl,  weaving  her  figures  in  and  out,  her  scarf 
now  held  out  behind  her  head,  now  sweeping  the  ground, 

355 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

gleaming  like  a  fire-fly  in  the  smoky  light  of  the 
lanterns.  And  the  first  thing  that  met  my  sight  at  half- 
past  six  the  next  morning  was  the  same  girl,  still  danc- 
ing, still  smiling,  still  crying  encouragement  to  the  partner 
of  her  dance. 

And  how  they  all  drank!  All  the  time,  all  night  and 
all  day,  and  at  every  moment  of  it.  And  when  a  man 
could  do  no  more,  he  was  laid  on  the  mats  behind  the 
booths  to  sleep  it  off.  On  Christmas  morning  when  I 
went  to  Mass,  I  had  to  pick  my  way  over  rows  of  them. 

At  the  end  of  the  three  days  they  had  arrived  at  the 
point  of  refusing  to  leave.  The  municipality  dispatched  a 
corps  of  police  to  send  them  away,  but  the  police  were  a 
joke  to  them.  They  were  there  in  thousands,  all,  or  nearly 
all,  either  hopelessly  or  hilariously  drunk,  and  the  police 
did  not  press  the  matter.  At  last,  his  patience  exhausted, 
the  Mayor  brought  out  all  the  fire  engines  in  town  and, 
for  once  in  a  way,  made  them  of  some  use.  These  he 
placed  at  both  ends  of  the  Alameda  and  then  opened 
fire  with  the  hose  briskly.  The  rout  was  complete.  The 
helpless  were  thrown  upon  carts,  and  the  rest,  cursing  and 
drenched,  pitched  their  possessions  on  the  top  of  them, 
the  cats  and  chickens  over  all,  and  in  half  an  hour  the 
place  was  clear. 

That  was  the  only  time  I  ever  saw  the  celebration, 
for  the  cholera  came  afterwards  and  remained  with  us 
for  two  years,  summer  and  winter,  and  the  Fair  was 
prohibited. 

I  spoke  of  the  young  country  dandies  just  now.  Never 
did  more  gorgeous  figures  strut  in  any  country  in  the 

356 


SPANISH-AMERICAN    WAYS,    TRADITIONS 

world.  The  guaso  (pronounced  ivasso)  Is  a  creature  by 
himself.  His  clothes  and  saddlery  are  literally  crusted  in 
silver  from  the  band  of  his  hat  to  the  huge  spurs  that 
ring  like  church  bells  as  he  walks.  Our  milkman,  I  re- 
member, affected  the  guaso's  splendour  and  rode  in  fif- 
teen miles  every  morning,  his  cans  tied  on  to  his  saddle, 
jingling  like  a  carriage  horse.  He  was  a  humourist,  too. 
One  morning  I  watched  him  ride  into  the  court-yard,  and, 
when  a  servant  appeared,  open  a  lid  of  a  can,  dive  his 
hand  in,  and  extract  a  fistful  of  butter  —  churned  by 
the  ride !    We  drank  very  little  fresh  milk  after  that. 

The  girls  are  the  best  things  that  South  America  pro- 
duces. They  age  quickly,  to  be  sure,  and,  aging,  lose 
their  figures  and  complexions  quickly.  But  while  they 
are  young,  they  are  splendid.  They  have  a  freshness, 
a  contagious  enthusiasm,  and  an  unspoilt  sweetness  that 
are  not  found  in  many  places  nowadays.  Their  educa- 
tion is  always  conventional  and  extremely  simple.  It  is 
centred  on  two  things,  which,  above  alj  others,  are  deemed 
to  be  essential  to  a  well-bred  gentlewoman  —  embroidery 
and  the  making  of  sweetmeats.  They  are  taught  to 
read  and  write  and  are  given  a  few  other  elementary 
scraps  of  knowledge  besides,  but  those  two  are  the  really 
important  things.  Once  they  have  left  the  convent  behind 
them,  reading  is  not  encouraged  and  writing  is  confined 
to  a  few  letters  three  or  four  times  a  year.  One  little 
girl  I  knew,  who  afterwards  became  a  Sister  of  Charity, 
was  very  fond  of  reading  —  and,  by  reading,  I  mean  of 
real  reading  —  but,  whenever  her  mother  caught  her  with 
a  book  In  her  hand,  she  would  take  It  away  and  tell  her 

357 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

to  go  to  the  drawing-room  and  embroider  with  her 
sisters  "  so  as  not  to  waste  her  time  with  useless  things.'* 

When  a  girl  becomes  engaged  —  they  are  as  free,  by 
the  way,  in  their  choice,  as  our  own  —  she  embroiders  the 
covering  for  her  entire  drawing-room  furniture  before 
she  marries.  One  girl  of  my  acquaintance  even  forbade 
her  fiance  to  call  in  the  morning  at  all,  on  that  account. 
"  I  must  not  waste  my  time,"  she  said,  "  I  have  important 
work  to  do!  " 

These  good  habits  are  probably  traceable  to  an  over- 
seas civilisation,  but  there  are  others  that  are  somewhat 
more  obscure,  unless  one  attributes  them  to  the  Indians. 
When,  for  instance,  among  the  poorer  classes,  a  baby 
dies,  far  from  expressing  any  sorrow,  the  whole  neigh- 
bourhood is  called  in  to  rejoice.  "  The  child  has  gone 
to  heaven,"  they  say,  "what  is  there  to  weep  over?" 
Then  the  little  body  is  waked  in  a  way  that  would  make 
the  Irish  envious.  A  feast  is  prepared.  Gay  songs  are 
sung  to  cheer  up  the  mother.  Aguardiente  flows  —  I 
need  hardly  have  put  that  in  —  and  everyone  eats  and 
drinks  until  they  can  hold  no  more.  Afterwards  —  and 
here,  I  cannot  help  thinking,  the  savage  peeps  out  —  the 
poor  little  thing  is  dressed  up,  its  face  is  painted  — 
painted!  —  and  it  is  borne  round  by  two  of  the  women  to 
visit  the  neighbourhood.  It  is  considered  a  great  honour, 
too,  and  a  bringer  of  luck.  It  is  an  "  Angelino,"  —  a 
little  angel.  Of  course,  no  baby  is  ever  christened 
Angelica,  and  the  only  exception  that  I  can  remember 
was  one  so  hopelessly  crippled  at  birth  that  the  suggestion 
was  thus  politely  laid  before  Providence  to  remove  it. 

358 


SPANISH-AMERICAN    WAYS,    TRADITIONS 

Providence,  however,  had  other  views,  and  it  lived.  I 
shall  never  forget  my  first  sight  of  one  of  these  pro- 
cessions coming  down  the  street.  I  cannot  dwell  upon  it. 
Not  until  it  came  quite  close,  did  I  realise  what  it  was 
that  the  woman  was  carrying  with  such  a  happy  smile 
on  her  face. 

Santiago  is  rich  in  gruesome  things,  but  the  most  terrify- 
ing that  I  ever  saw  there  was  when  I  was  leaning  out  of 
the  drawing-room  window  one  night,  just  before  I  went  to 
bed.  It  was  late,  and  there  was  a  bright  moon  that 
threw  out  the  whole  of  the  Alameda  into  vivid  relief. 
I  had  been  absorbed  in  my  thoughts  for  some  time,  try- 
ing to  dream  myself  back  into  Italy,  and  see,  in  the  stucco 
palatios,  the  real  palaces  of  Rome,  —  wondering  what 
all  the  dear  people  there  were  doing  —  one  has  to  snatch 
at  the  tricks  of  childhood  sometimes  in  the  ends  of  the 
earth,  to  help  quiet  the  Heimweh  —  when,  suddenly, 
from  far  up  the  street,  I  heard  the  howl  of  a  wolf.  There 
was  no  mistaking  it.  It  was  not  a  dog.  No  dog  had 
ever  lived  that  could  imitate  it.  Staring  down  in  the 
direction  from  which  it  came,  I  saw  the  figure  of  a  man 
lurch  out  of  the  trees  into  the  full  light  of  the  moon  — 
a  man,  dressed  in  evening  clothes  —  I  could  see  the  white 
shirt  front  clearly.  On  he  came,  staggering  from  side 
to  side,  and  bumping  his  head  crazily  against  the  trees 
as  though  trying  to  break  them  down,  —  and  not  by 
accident,  for  I  saw  him,  three  or  four  times,  lower  his 
head  and  run  at  them.  And  all  the  time  he  howled  — 
that  awful  howl  of  the  wolf! 

The  street  was  quite  deserted,  not  even  a  policeman 

359 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

being  In  sight,  and  I  had  a  full  view  of  him  as  he  passed 
beneath  the  window.  His  eyes  were  shut  —  his  lips  were 
drawn  back  in  a  grin  that  showed  his  teeth,  and  his  mouth 
was  wide  open.  I  could  not  leave  the  window  though 
my  teeth  were  chattering  like  castanets  and  I  was 
trembling  all  over.  Down  the  street  I  watched  him  go, 
weaving  from  side  to  side  in  the  moonlight  and  rushing 
head-on  against  the  trees,  howling,  until  at  last  he  disap- 
peared in  the  distance.  But  the  screeching  came  back 
to  me  for  two  or  three  minutes  after  he  had  vanished 
himself. 

What  was  It?  The  good  God  who  made  him  only 
knows.  He  was  not  drunk,  for  no  drunken  man  could 
have  thrown  himself  at  the  trees  in  that  fashion  —  and  no 
sober  man,  either,  that  I  have  ever  seen  or  heard  of. 
The  howl,  at  least,  was  not  that  of  any  human  being, 
whatever  the  body  might  have  been.  It  was  that  of  a 
famished  wolf  and  not  anything  else.  Does  that  sound 
like  superstition?  Well,  superstition  it  may  be.  But 
which  is  the  worst  offender,  he  who,  having  seen  much 
and  experienced  many  strange  adventures,  prefers  to  think 
all  things  possible  in  the  creation  of  an  omnipotent  God, 
or  he  who  fastens  down  that  word  "  superstition  "  over 
the  entrance  to  every  avenue  of  knowledge  that  per- 
tains to  the  Twilight  Kingdom? 

I  am  reminded  of  an  article  I  read  some  time  ago  on 
the  subject  of  miracles  by  a  divine  of  one  of  the  Free 
Churches,  whose  name  I  forget.  Having  set  forth  his 
belief  in  an  Almighty  and  All-powerful  Providence  the 
writer  set  himself  to  the  task  of  attempting  to  prove  that 

360 


SPANISH-AMERICAN    WAYS,    TRADITIONS 

miracles  could  not  happen  in  our  day  —  and  this  is  how 
he  went  about  it.  Compelled  by  the  incontrovertible  evi- 
dence of  the  Gospels,  he  acknowledged  that  our  Lord 
performed  many  in  his  time  and  that  his  followers  per- 
formed many  more.  But,  he  went  on  to  say,  such  things, 
then,  were  obviously  needed  to  convert  the  heathen  and 
give  the  Church  a  start.  Leaving  it  to  be  understood 
that  no  such  necessity  existed  nowadays,  there  being,  pre- 
sumably, no  more  heathen  to  convert,  he  let  fall  the 
astounding  observation  that  should  an  All-just,  All- 
seeing,  All-understanding  God,  in  His  infinite  wisdom, 
do  such  a  thing  in  our  time  —  and  fly  in  the  face  of  the 
writer's  personal  opinions  on  the  subject  —  He  would 
cease  (Cease  !  the  Eternal  would  cease,  that  was  his  word) 
to  be  a  just  God,  thereby,  of  course,  ceasing  to  be  God 
at  all !  Put  into  plainer  words,  the  Almighty  might  con- 
tinue to  sit  on  His  throne  as  long  as  He  behaved  Himself 
in  accordance  with  the  reverend  gentleman's  idea  of  how  a 
God  should  behave  —  but  not  a  moment  longer.  And 
the  writer  was  —  will  you  believe  it?  —  a  Professor  of 
Theology  at  a  Nonconformist  Seminary. 

It  is  a  strange  attitude  of  mind  that  acknowledges 
Omnipotence  in  one  breath  and  sets  rigid  limits  to  it 
in  the  next. 

But,  to  go  back  to  the  man-wolf.  One  of  our  old 
Italian  servants  used  to  tell  a  fearful  story  —  and  she 
spoke  of  it  as  though  it  were  of  common  knowledge.  It 
was  about  a  certain  hunter  who  lived  far  out  in  the 
Campagna  by  himself,  in  a  small  stone  house.  One 
evening,  just  as  he  was  preparing  to  go  to  bed,  he  heard 

361 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

some  one  knocking  at  the  door  and,  opening  It,  saw  a  man 
and  a  woman  of  the  better  class  standing  outside.  They 
were  well-dressed,  although  the  woman  was  dusty  and 
tired,  and  they  begged  him  to  let  them  stay  the  night, 
the  man  saying  that  they  had  gone  for  a  walk  earlier  in  the 
day,  taking  some  food  with  them,  and  intending  to  return 
to  Rome  In  the  evening.  After  eating,  he  had  taken  a 
little  nap  and,  when  he  woke  up,  found  that  his  wife  had 
disappeared.  She  had  wandered  away  to  pick  some 
flowers,  from  her  own  account,  and  had  lost  herself  — 
a  simple  enough  thing  to  do  thereabouts.  They  were 
ready  to  pay  handsomely,  they  said,  for  the  night's  lodg- 
ing, and  he,  glad  enough  to  earn  money  so  easily,  let  them 
in  and,  having  given  them  something  to  eat  and  drink, 
led  them  upstairs  and  left  them  there.  The  next  morn- 
ing, as  he  was  leaving  the  house,  the  husband  called 
out  to  him  that  he  would  be  very  glad  to  buy  from 
him  any  game  that  he  might  get,  and  added  that  he 
was  going  back  to  bed  again  —  for  he  was  singularly 
sleepy. 

The  man  started  off  —  cheerfully,  as  one  may  under- 
stand, and  the  other  went  back  to  bed  where  he  slept 
until  the  early  afternoon.  On  awakening,  he  saw  that 
his  wife  was  sitting  by  one  of  the  windows,  wrapped 
up  in  a  shawl.  She  was  cold,  she  said,  and  anxious  to 
start  for  home  again  as  soon  as  possible.  He  assured 
her  that  he  would  not  keep  her  waiting  for  long,  dressed 
himself,  and  went  downstairs,  leaving  her  by  the  window. 

Having  refreshed  himself,  he  sat  down  by  the  door, 
borrowing  his  host's  pipe  and  tobacco,  and  waited  for  the 

362 


SPANISH-AMERICAN    WAYS,    TRADITIONS 

latter's  return.  After  some  time  had  sped,  he  left  the 
house  and  walked  a  little  way  in  the  direction  which  the 
hunter  had  taken  in  the  morning,  but  he  had  not  pro- 
ceeded far  before  he  met  him.  The  man  was  evidently 
labouring  under  some  great  excitement,  and  he  also 
seemed  to  be  very  dizzy,  for  he  staggered  as  he  came  up, 
and  sat  down  abruptly.  His  game-bag  was  empty,  but 
the  other  noticed  a  smear  of  blood  on  his  coat,  and  think- 
ing him  to  have  met  with  some  accident,  stooped  down. 
But  the  hunter  waved  him  back.  He  could  not  speak  for 
a  minute  or  two,  and  only  after  he  had  recovered  himself 
somewhat  he  told  his  story.  A  mile  or  so  from  the 
house,  he  had  sat  down  to  rest  and  look  about  for  the 
signs  of  any  game.  The  day  was  very  still  and  he  had 
been  listening  and  watching  intently,  when,  without  an 
instant's  warning,  a  heavy  body  leaped  on  him  from 
behind,  threw  him  over,  and  held  him  in  a  pair  of  mighty 
jaws  by  the  coat  collar,  face  downward.  So  stunned  was 
he  with  fright  and  astonishment  that,  at  first,  he  lay  still. 
But  presently,  as  the  teeth  began  to  work  upwards  towards 
his  neck  he  wriggled  his  head  around  and  saw,  a  few  inches 
away,  the  paw  of  an  enormous  wolf.  Wolves  there 
were,  as  he  said,  and  wolves,  but  nothing  like  this  one 
had  he  ever  heard  of.  In  proof  of  which  he  showed 
the  barrel  of  his  gun  which  had  been  slung  on  his  back, 
bitten  almost  in  two.  His  hands  had  been  free  and  he 
had  managed  to  get  out  his  knife,  hardly  knowing  what 
to  do  with  it  till  his  eyes  fell  once  more  on  the  great  paw 
by  his  head.  In  desperation,  he  slashed  at  it,  and  the 
long,  razor-edged  blade  went  through  bone  and  flesh; 

363 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

when,  with  a  howl,  the  wolf  jumped  away  from  him  and 
he  fainted. 

How  long  he  lay  there  he  had  no  idea,  but  when  he 
came  to  himself  and  got  to  his  feet,  the  paw  was  beside 
him.  So  saying,  he  produced  it  —  and  it  bore  out  his 
story,  for  it  was  larger  than  a  man's  hand.  Together 
they  returned  to  the  house,  where,  after  making  sure 
that  the  hunter  was  none  the  worse  for  his  experience, 
the  visitor  asked  if  he  might  look  at  the  paw  again. 
In  the  hasty  glance  he  had  had  of  it  by  the  side  of  the 
road,  he  had  not  had  time  to  satisfy  his  curiosity.  Such 
a  thing  was  not  to  be  seen  twice  in  a  lifetime.  The 
hunter  agreed  with  him  and  put  his  hand  into  his  leather 
game-bag  —  only  to  withdraw  it  with  a  scream.  "  Do  not 
go  near  it!  "  he  begged,  as  the  other  approached.  "As 
you  value  your  soul,  do  not  touch  it!  " 

But  the  visitor  was  made  of  sterner  stuff  and,  despite 
his  host's  pleadings  dived  into  the  game-bag  and  brought 
out  —  a  human  hand! 

Dropping  it  on  the  floor,  he  sprang  away,  but  his  eyes 
were  drawn  back  to  the  gruesome  thing  in  spite  of  him, 
and  he  saw  the  glitter  of  a  ring.  There  was  something 
diabolically  familiar  about  the  hand.  He  looked  again 
and  closer.  There  was  something  familiar  about  the 
ring,  too.  He  had  seen  it  elsewhere  and  very  lately.  He 
left  his  host  in  the  chair  where  he  had  collapsed,  ran  up- 
stairs and  burst  in  on  his  wife.  She  was  still  sitting  by 
the  window  and  when  she  heard  his  voice  she  turned 
and  looked  at  him.  Her  face  was  changed  almost  out 
of  recognition  and  the  hate  of  the  other  world  was  in  her 

364 


SPANISH-AMERICAN    WAYS,    TRADITIONS 

eyes,  but  he  seized  the  shawl  she  had  wrapped  around  her, 
though  she  bit  and  struggled.  At  last  he  tore  it  off  and 
a  glance  showed  him  the  rough  bandages  over  one  arm 
where  the  hand  should  have  been.  It  was  her  hand 
that  he  had  taken  out  of  the  game-bag!  The  end  of 
the  story  (which  I  can  only  tell  as  it  was  told  to  me)  is 
that  the  woman  was  burnt  as  a  witch. 


365 


XVI 

"BATTLE,    MURDER,    AND    SUDDEN   DEATH!" 

The  Curse  of  the  Latins  —  Mademoiselle  Jaures  and  the  Broken  Crucifix  — 
Santa  Maria  Desecrates  the  Cemeteries  —  A  Clandestine  Funeral  —  Chilean 
Heroines  —  The  Tram-car  Riot  —  A  Resolute  Mob  —  A  Massacre  of 
the  Innocents  —  Stolen  Bullion  —  The  President  in  Hiding  —  The  Chil- 
dren's Game  and  the  Tyrant's  End. 

CHILE  had  not  recovered  entirely  from  the  effects  of 
the  war  when  we  were  there.  Successful  though  she 
had  been,  It  had  put  her  back  badly.  The  country  out- 
side the  cities  was  infested  by  brigands  of  all  sorts,  and 
we  never  took  a  drive  without  carrying  pistols  with  us 
In  the  carriage  —  huge  affairs  that  I  used  to  be  horribly 
afraid  of.  I  never  could  quite  assure  myself  that 
they  would  not  go  off  by  accident  and  blow  somebody 
Into  pieces.  There  were  brigands  inside  the  cities,  too, 
both  in  uniform  and  out  of  it,  but  they  had,  unwillingly 
I  am  sure,  to  draw  the  line  somewhere  —  in  our  time  at 
least  —  just  outside  the  Legation. 

Though  not  so  prosperous  as  in  former  years,  Chile 
was  better  off  than  either  of  her  two  opponents,  for  their 
paper  money  had  depreciated  to  about  two  cents  on  the 
dollar.  As  some  Peruvian  friends  of  mine  told  me  quite 
solemnly,  "  Before  the  war,  our  servants  used  to  go 
to  the  market  with  a  handkerchief  for  the  money  and  a 


"BATTLE,    MURDER,    SUDDEN    DEATH!" 

basket  for  the  provisions.  Now,  they  take  the  handker- 
chief for  the  provisions  and  the  basket  for  the  money!  " 

Inevitably,  too,  the  world-wide  curse  of  the  Latins  — 
that  madness  which  takes  them,  as  light-headedness  takes 
a  fever  patient  —  whenever  they  are  worn  out  by  war 
or  pestilence,  the  thing  politely  known  as  Liberalism, 
had  them  In  Its  grip.  The  nature  of  that  affliction  needs 
no  explaining  to  Catholics,  who,  high  and  low,  rich  and 
poor,  contend  with  It  daily  in  every  quarter  of  the  earth; 
but,  for  the  information  of  those  of  other  Communions, 
who  are  real  believers  in  the  Divinity  of  Christ  and  the 
Gospel  of  Human  Liberty,  I  will  try  to  make  its  meaning 
clear. 

In  the  first  place,  It  has  no  more  to  do  with  any  sort 
of  Liberality,  political  or  personal,  than  with  the  gates 
of  Heaven.  Its  best  and  most  enthusiastic  exponents 
have  always  been  the  French  Republican  Governments, 
who,  lately,  have  outdone  themselves.  Not  content  with 
robbing  the  Church  of  Its  own  private  property,  and 
putting  the  profits  into  their  own  personal  pockets,  not 
satisfied  with  turning  defenceless  monks  and  nuns  out  of 
houses  which  their  Orders  had  built  with  their  own  money, 
and  with  stealing  their  pitiful  little  personal  possessions; 
not  shaming  to  use  soldiers  —  save  the  mark!  —  to 
hustle  these  poor  women  out  of  their  own  doors  by  the 
shoulders  and  In  many  cases  with  the  butts  of  their  rifles 
(think  of  it,  you  placid,  self-contented,  "  broad  minded  " 
Christians  of  England  and  the  United  States,  who  pro- 
fess once  a  week,  and  with  such  pious  unction,  to  be 
the  true   followers   of  the   Christ  whose  servants  these 

367 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

good  and  holy  women  undoubtedly  were;  you  who  could 
find  it  in  what  you  call  your  consciences,  idly  to  watch 
their  pain,  never  once  lifting  voice  or  finger  in  protest!)  ; 
not  content,  I  say,  with  all  this,  they  proceeded,  openly 
and  in  the  Legislature  of  their  country,  to  glorify  them- 
selves and  their  deeds,  for  all  the  world  to  hear. 

"  We  have  turned  Christ  out  of  the  schools,  the  Army 
and  the  Navy!  "  cried  their  leader.  "  Now  we  will  turn 
Him  out  of  the  country,  too!  " 

Good  Friday,  the  anniversary  of  the  Redemption,  was 
selected  as  the  most  propitious  day  for  the  destruction 
of  the  wayside  Crucifixes  which  had  offered  rest  to  the 
weary  and  consolation  to  the  sorrowful  of  former 
generations.  How  pitiful  is  Mademoiselle  Jaures'  ac- 
count of  her  finding  the  image  of  the  suffering  Saviour 
broken  by  hammer  blows  and  flung  down  to  be  trampled 
upon;  of  the  irresistible  impulse  which  made  her  rever- 
ently lay  the  fragments  together,  while  her  girl  friend 
looked  scornfully  on;  and  of  the  pang  at  her  heart  when 
this  same  friend,  a  well-educated  young  French  lady, 
came  and  kicked  the  desecrated  symbol  to  pieces  again, 
laughing  as  she  did  so ! 

Doubtless  the  Divine  Mercy  which  led  Mademoiselle 
Jaures  to  embrace  the  Carmelite  life  of  penance  and 
prayer,  in  atonement  for  her  father's  sins,  has  inspired 
other  generous  souls  with  a  like  resolve,  at  sight  of  the 
same  sacrilege;  but  what  retribution  has  Divine  Justice 
in  store  for  the  nations  that  submit  to  these  outrages,  for 
the  rulers  who  perpetrate  them  and  of  whom  the  great 
Dom  Gueranger  said  so  truly,   "  The  Jew  servants  of 

368 


"BATTLE,    MURDER,    SUDDEN    DEATH!" 

Pilate  once  raised  the  Cross;  now  they  are  employed  in 
tearing  it  down!  " 

And,  with  the  Cross,  the  whole  social  fabric.  This 
cannot  stand  without  that.  When  the  scum  of  Rome, 
hounded  on  by  its  "  progressive  "  Mayor,  Nathan  the 
son  of  Mazzini,  howled  and  leapt  round  the  bonfires 
lighted  under  the  windows  of  the  Vatican  a  little  while 
ago,  the  yells  of  "  Death  to  Christ !  Death  to  the  Pope  !  " 
found  their  necessary  complement  in  the  cry,  "  Death  to 
the  King!" 

When  Authority  struck  at  the  Crucifix  it  dealt  its  own 
death-blow  for  all  but  its  own  master's  work  —  Evil. 
Its  waning  energies  are  concentrated  on  that,  for  the 
present.  The  name  of  God,  so  mighty  that  under  the 
Mosaic  Law  only  the  Priests  and  Levites  were  privi- 
leged to  pronounce  it,  may  not  be  spoken  in  the  schools 
lest  some  child  should  come  to  believe  in  Him.^  The 
civilised,  progressive  rulers  sent  their  emissaries  all 
over  the  country  solely  to  corrupt  the  minds  of 
the  little  children.  They  forbade  oflUcers  or  soldiers  to 
go  to  Church  —  and  only  a  few  of  the  former  were 
found,  in  that  army  which  was  once  the  glory  and  the 
wonder  of  its  age,  men  enough  to  resist  the  infamy  and 
stand  by  their  God,  their  conscience,  and  their  traditions. 
Some  did  —  all  honour  to  them !  —  but  they  were  only  a 
remnant. 

That  is  Free  Liberalism.  It  is  a  hate  of  all  that  is 
good,  and  a  worship,  for  its  own  sake,  of  all  that  is  evil. 

*  In  the  spelling-book  lists  the  names  "  Adam  "  and  "  Eve  "  have  been  re- 
placed by  "  Albert  "  and  "  Emilie  "  —  the  Liberals  have  lost  the  sense  of 
humour  with  their  other  qualifications  for  salvation! 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

It  Is  the  child  of  Freemasonry,  against  which  the  Vicar 
of  Christ  warned  the  Faithful,  hundreds  of  years  ago. 
Let  the  Freemasons  of  England  and  America  say  what 
they  will,  it  is  one  body  all  over  the  world.  That  the 
"  personnel  "  of  the  former  is  infinitely  higher  than  that 
of  the  latter,  is  an  incident;  it  does  not  affect  the  fact. 
That  many  English  and  American  Freemasons  are  good 
and  upright  men,  I  am  ready  to  confess  —  and  gladly, 
since  those  very  qualities  will  bring  them  out  of  the 
Army  of  the  Beast,  when  once  they  catch  a  sight  of  their 
Commander's  real  face.  As  things  are,  whether  con- 
sciously or  unconsciously,  they  gather  under  the  same 
banner  and  we  must  not  be  blamed  if  we  see  in  them  the 
same  enemy. 

Chile,  as  I  have  said,  was  In  their  hands.  The  Presi- 
dent, Santa  Maria,  was  a  virulent  one  and  he  put  out 
his  whole  strength.  Not  that  his  whole  strength  was 
much,  pitted  against  such  an  adversary,  but  he  contrived 
to  make  good  Christians  uncomfortable  and  unhappy, 
which  was  something,  from  his  point  of  view. 

For  one  thing,  he  had  a  law  passed,  ordering  that 
everyone,  atheist,  murderer,  or  suicide,  should  be  burled 
in  consecrated  ground.  That  this  was  the  merest  spite, 
nobody  pretended  to  disbelieve,  nor  was  the  motive  disa- 
vowed. But  the  Chllenos  were  not  sufficiently  "  edu- 
cated "  to  allow  themselves  to  be  trampled  upon  In  that 
fashion,  though  Santa  Maria  used  every  method  that 
came  to  his  hand  to  compel  obedience  —  and  those  who 
have  never  seen  the  Interior  of  a  South  American  prison 
can  hardly  appreciate  what  that  means. 

370 


"BATTLE,    MURDER,    SUDDEN    DEATH!" 

It  was  at  about  this  time  that  two  young  acquaintances 
of  ours  lost  their  father.  The  good  man  had  laid  it  upon 
them  with  his  dying  breath  to  bury  him  decently,  and 
they  would  have  undergone  any  punishment  rather  than 
fail  him.  After  much  thought  they  hit  upon  an  ex- 
pedient, and,  the  perfunctory  coroner's  inquest  over,  took 
the  body  up  into  the  attic  and  locked  it  in.  The  coffin, 
which  was  awaiting  him  downstairs,  they  filled  with  stone 
and  brick,  and  this,  the  same  evening,  was  solemnly  borne 
to  the  cemetery  and  interred.  When  that  was  over 
and  they  were  back  in  their  house  again,  they  dressed 
their  beloved  father's  body  in  ordinary  clothes,  and 
waited  for  the  dark.  Under  the  cover  of  night  they 
got  out  their  own  carriage  —  a  covered  one  —  smug- 
gled the  corpse  inside,  and  placed  it  sitting  up  in  one 
corner.  One  sat  beside  it,  the  other  drove,  and  when 
they  reached  the  gates  and  were  Interrogated  by  the 
Guard  as  to  where  they  were  going,  the  former  replied 
that  he  was  taking  back  to  his  home  a  friend  who 
had  been  staying  with  him.  They  were  let  through 
and,  after  a  long  drive,  arrived  at  their  destination, 
a  Convent  of,  I  think,  Benedictines,  where  the  body 
was  brought  out  and  properly  buried  by  the  light  of  the 
moon. 

To  the  women,  however,  belongs  the  honour  of  hav- 
ing shown  the  Liberals  the  barrier  beyond  which  they 
dared  not  pass.  A  certain  measure  was  about  to  become 
law,  and  compliance  with  it  would  entail  absolute  excom- 
munication. The  Liberals  had  never  gone  to  quite  such 
lengths  before,  but,  sure  of  their  power  —  having  care- 

371 


RExMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

fully  revised  the  suffrage  to  insure  its  continuance  — 
they  began  their  attacls:  in  real  earnest.  Now  the  women 
of  Chile  are  not  only  housekeeping,  home-loving 
creatures,  but  they  are  also  full  of  courage  and  self- 
respect;  their  Religion  is  everything  to  them,  and  they 
have  an  influence  over  their  men  which  absolves  them 
for  ever  from  the  tedious  necessity  of  actually  voting 
themselves. 

The  Liberals,  rejoicing  in  their  strength,  rushed  on, 
and,  perceiving  no  immediate  resistance,  framed  the  new 
law  so  as  to  make  it  impossible  for  any  one  to  obey  it 
and  remain  within  the  pale  of  the  Church.  Then  the 
women  rose  up.  Some  twenty  or  thirty  of  them  met 
together — all  wives  of  prominent  men,  and  some  of 
members  of  the  Government  itself.  "  This  is  enough," 
they  said.  "  If  the  men  have  gone  mad,  it  is  for  us  to 
cure  them!  " 

They  settled  their  plan  of  campaign  In  a  very  short 
time,  and  that  evening,  when  supper  was  over,  each  one 
handed  in  her  ultimatum. 

"  If  you  do  this  thing,"  they  said,  "  you  are  excommu- 
nicate. Very  well,  that  is  your  own  affair.  But  the 
Church  does  not  compel  us  to  live  with  excommunicates. 
We  shall  take  our  children  and  leave  you.  We  can  all 
earn  our  own  livings,  if  it  comes  to  that,  and  every  one 
of  us  would  rather  starve  and  watch  her  children  starve 
than  soil  her  soul  and  imperil  theirs  —  now  choose!  " 

They  would  have  done  It,  too,  and  the  men  knew  it. 
The  law  was  not  passed.  Never  was  a  surrender  more 
swift  or  more  complete. 

372 


"BATTLE,    MURDER,    SUDDEN    DEATH!" 

Some  evil  genius  must  have  inspired  Balmaceda. 
Nothing  that  he  did,  but  turned  to  hurt  for  him.  Not 
a  sling  did  he  cast  at  his  enemies  but  proved  a  boomer- 
ang. That  the  man  w^as  weak  and  vain  does  not  alto- 
gether account  for  the  procession  of  misfortunes  that 
overtook  him. 

Just  after  he  was  elected  a  local  storm  burst  in  Santi- 
ago and  showed  his  nature  up  very  well. 

The  tram-cars  in  the  city  were  private  property,  and 
the  tram-car  Company,  like  its  brethren  farther  north, 
had  got  Into  the  habit  of  thinking  that  the  streets  were 
their  own  private  property,  too.  The  fares  on  these 
cars  had  been  established  at  two  and  a  half  cents,  but 
the  Company  —  thinking  the  public  helpless  to  resist  — 
put  them  up,  without  warning,  to  three.  The  people 
promptly  made  a  public  demonstration,  and  went  to  inter- 
view Balmaceda  on  the  subject. 

He  promised  —  swore  —  that  all  should  be  put  straight 
at  once.  But  they  did  not  trust  him  any  too  completely, 
and  announced,  to  stiffen  his  back,  that  if  the  fares  were 
not  lowered,  in  a  week  there  would  not  be  a  rail  down 
in  Santiago.  Again  he  promised,  and  they  dispersed 
after  reiterating  their  threat. 

Three  days  went  by  and  nothing  happened.  The 
fares  remained  at  three  cents  and  the  Company  was  much 
amused.  On  the  fourth  day,  the  citizens,  somewhat 
indignant  by  now,  gathered  again  and  set  out  to  pay 
Balmaceda  another  visit.  This  time,  however,  he  had 
had  word  of  their  intention  and  they  spent  several  hours 
in  tracing  him  before  they  ran  him  down  at  his  mother's 

373 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

house  where  he  had  hidden  himself.  They  haled  him 
out  into  the  patio  and  reminded  him  that  time  was 
flying  and  their  patience  with  it.  Balmaceda,  in  tears, 
implored  them  to  calm  their  indignation  for  a  day  or  two 
and  to  trust  him  to  see  that  they  got  their  rights  —  he 
was  even  then,  he  assured  them,  arranging  matters  with 
the  Company.  "  Very  well,"  they  said,  "  this  is  the  middle 
of  the  week.  You  have  until  Sunday,  Sefior  Presidente. 
After  that  we  will  settle  the  matter  ourselves  —  in  the 
way  that  we  spoke  of !  " 

Saturday  went  by,  but  there  was  no  sign  of  any  change 
of  heart  on  the  part  of  the  Company,  the  directors  of 
which  seemed,  from  the  few  glances  obtained  of  them, 
to  be  enjoying  the  situation  very  much,  and  Santiago  went 
quietly  to  bed. 

Towards  noon  on  Sunday,  the  Alameda  began  to  fill 
with  men  —  there  were  hardly  any  women  at  first,  though 
plenty  came  out  afterwards  when  the  fun  began.  Each 
man  carried  in  his  hand  a  bottle  of  petroleum  and  a 
number  were  armed  with  crowbars.  Within  an  hour  the 
street  was  packed.  There  was  not  much  talking;  but 
at  a  given  signal  the  first  of  a  line  of  cars,  that  were 
approaching  at  a  foot's  pace  to  avoid  crushing  some  one 
In  the  mass  of  humanity  that  covered  the  street,  was 
held  up.  I  watched  the  whole  thing  from  my  window 
The  proceedings  were  perfectly  orderly.  The  horses 
were  taken  out,  and  led  down  a  side  street,  the  passen- 
gers politely  requested  to  descend,  the  driver  and  con- 
ductor lifted  down  and  passed  along  from  hand  to  hand 
until  they  were  well  out  of  the  way.     That  done,  the 

374 


"BATTLE,    MURDER,    SUDDEN    DEATH!" 

bottles  were  produced  and  poured  liberally  over  the  car, 
which  was  then  set  alight  amidst  the  cheers  of  the  by- 
standers. The  remainder  of  the  six  cars  that  waited 
behind  were  similarly  treated.  The  flames  shot  up  and 
new  cheers  shot  up  with  them,  while  the  crowd,  now 
thoroughly  roused  to  its  duty,  set  to  work  to  tear  up  the 
rails.  Those  in  the  Alameda  were  soon  up  and  piled, 
women  and  children  joining  in,  and  the  "  aperitif  "  dis- 
posed of,  the  mob  —  for  it  had  grown  into  those  pro- 
portions —  set  about  the  real  business  for  which  it  had 
assembled.  It  wrecked  the  barns,  burnt  more  cars, 
smashed  the  doors  and  windows  of  the  directors'  houses, 
and,  long  before  night  had  every  line  in  the  city  hope- 
lessly crippled.  Filled  with  a  comfortable  sense  of  duty 
done  and  having  still  a  little  time  on  their  hands,  the 
people  attempted  to  put  a  finishing  touch  on  the  morn- 
ing's work  by  dragging  out  Balmaceda  and  telling  him 
what  they  thought  of  him.  But  the  President  had  anti- 
cipated that  and  had  left  home  as  soon  as  he  heard  of 
the  crowd  on  the  Alameda,  so  they  were  obliged,  re- 
luctantly, to  disperse. 

It  was  a  real  festa  for  the  whole  town.  There  was 
no  fighting,  no  one  was  injured,  not  a  horse  was  hurt. 
Needless  to  say,  there  was  no  further  argument  over 
the  subject,  and,  after  the  rails  were  relaid,  the  fares 
went  back  to  their  old  price,  where,  I  imagine,  they  have 
remained  to  this  day. 

Like  most  weak  and  vain  men,  Balmaceda  was,  as 
has  been  seen,  easily  frightened,  and  that  failing,  grafted 
on  to  the  others,  produced  its  natural  fruit  of  cruelty. 

375 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

It  may  be  said  with  truth,  that  it  was  he  who  began 
Civil  War  in  Chile,  and  he  had  to  go  to  some  considerable 
pains  to  do  it,  for  the  Chilean  is  not,  by  nature,  a  quarrel- 
some person,  and  will  bear  with  much  rather  than  appeal 
to  lead  and  steel.  He  even  endured  Errazuriz  and  Santa 
Maria  without  bloodshed.  Of  course  the  Liberals  helped, 
as  always.  Balmaceda,  bad  as  he  was,  had  not  the 
strength  to  be  wicked  enough  to  suit  them,  and  when, 
impelled  by  the  vanity  which  was  himself,  he  proposed 
to  name  his  successor,  Santafues,  instead  of  telling  him 
quietly  not  to  be  silly,  they  made  an  open  fuss.  Balma- 
ceda retorted,  a  la  Charles  I,  by  proroguing  Parliament, 
whereupon  a  Committee  of  the  two  Houses,  as  it  called 
itself,  "  summoned  the  people  to  rise."  Balmaceda  in- 
creased the  pay  of  the  army  and  navy,  proclaimed  mar- 
tial law,  and  smothered  the  Press.  This  latter  would 
have  been  perhaps  a  laudable  and  entirely  praiseworthy 
act  in  itself  or  from  any  other  motive,  but  he  had  chosen 
the  wrong  moment. 

I  cannot  help  saying,  here,  that  I  have  never  been  able 
to  understand  why  interference  with  the  Press  should 
always  be  the  breaking  point  of  a  people's  self-restraint. 
It  is  queer  when  you  come  to  think  of  it,  because  it  has 
nothing  to  do  with  the  people.  Its  opinions  are  not 
those  of  the  mass  of  the  public.  It  is  not  sufficiently  well- 
informed  about  any  single  thing  in  the  whole  world  to 
be  able  to  define  it  clearly,  yet  it  never  ceases  to  deafen 
our  ears  with  the  cry  that  its  mission  is  one  of  educa- 
tion. It  is  founded  on,  managed  for,  nothing  in  the 
world  but  personal  gain.     And  yet  with  all  this  a  matter 

376 


"BATTLE,    MURDER,    SUDDEN    DEATH!" 

of  common  knowledge,  the  myth  is  still  with  us,  and  the 
worst  accusation  —  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  —  that  can 
be  levelled  at  a  government  is  that  it  seeks  to  "  muzzle 
the  Press." 

Balmaceda's  was  the  weakness  which  breeds  cruelty. 
The  reasonable  sternness  of  the  Northern  man  at  arms 
always  seeks  to  confine  the  pain  of  war  to  himself  and 
his  adversary,  and  he  far  prefers  to  suffer  himself  than 
to  inflict  suffering  on  helpless  non-combatants.  Smaller 
peoples  seem,  rather,  to  enjoy  the  sight  of  the  hard- 
ships and  injuries  which  they  bring  on  the  unwilling 
spectators.  It  gives  them  a  sense  of  power,  I  suppose, 
and  importance,  thus  affording  an  outlet  to  the  mean  man's 
natural  tastes. 

Balmaceda  could  have  held  his  own  had  he  been  willing 
to  fight  for  it.  He  had  30,000  men,  all  the  money  in  the 
Treasury,  and,  at  first,  the  support  of  all  the  cities;  but, 
though  ready  enough  to  create  war,  he  could  not  bring 
himself  to  face  his  own  creation  when  it  materialised. 
One  is  reminded  of  Macaulay's  lines, 

".  .  .  shame  on  those  cruel  eyes 
That  bore  to  look  on  torture  and  dare  not  look  on  War! " 

They  are  applicable,  too,  for  he  had  no  objection  to 
shedding  blood  at  all,  so  long  as  he  was  not  called  upon 
to  take  any  personal  risk  in  the  shedding  of  it. 

In  the  early  days  of  the  rising,  a  demonstration  was 
made  by  some  innocuous  sympathisers  with  the  revolu- 
tionaries, who  were  reported  to  be  approaching,  victori- 
ously, to  a  point  a  few  miles  to  the  north  of  Santiago. 

377 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

It  was  an  affair  of  flags  and  music,  silly  songs  and  sillier 
speeches.  It  was  hardly  an  affair  for  the  police.  Some 
forty  boys  of  good  families,  all  eager  for  novelty  and 
fuU  of  the  cheerful  unwisdom  of  youth,  determined  to 
go  forth  and  welcome  the  "  liberators."  The  eldest  was 
not,  probably,  more  than  eighteen,  the  youngest,  four- 
teen, and,  of  course,  they  had  to  have  some  part  in  any 
protest  against  constituted  authority. 

But  Balmaceda  saw,  instantly,  what  appeared  to  be 
an  opportunity  of  asserting  himself  and  showing  the 
country  what  a  terribly  stern  person  it  had  for  its  Chief 
Executive,  and  at  the  same  time,  of  cowing  the  spirit  of 
the  nightmare  which  was  only  biding  its  time  to  descend 
upon  the  capital. 

He  sent  after  them,  and  they,  elated  by  such  unhoped- 
for luck,  were  brought  back  and  locked  up. 

It  was  generally  understood  that  they  would  be  re- 
leased in  the  morning  and  everyone  agreed  that  a  night's 
incarceration  would  do  them  no  harm,  even  though  it 
seemed  to  be  paying  them  a  somewhat  distinguished 
compliment. 

Conceive  of  the  feelings  of  that  peacefully  inclined, 
easy-going  city,  when,  late  on  the  next  afternoon,  it 
heard  that  they  had  been  lined  up  against  a  wall  and 
shot  without  trial ! 

That  was  the  beginning  of  the  end,  for  many  influen- 
tial people  who,  until  then,  had  preferred  to  continue 
under  the  devil  they  knew  rather  than  take  any 
chances  with  the  problematical  devil  of  the  "  Comicion," 
were   filled,    to   the    exclusion    of   any   question   of   the 

378 


"BATTLE,    MURDER,    SUDDEN    DEATH!" 

public  weal,   with  the   single  desire  to  kill   Balmaceda 
slowly. 

After  the  battle  of  Placilla,  where  the  Government 
forces  were  ignominiously  routed,  the  whole  of  Santiago 
became  a  hive  of  revolution,  and  Balmaceda  saw  that 
the  hour  had  arrived  to  say  good-bye  to  his  ungrateful 
country,  before  it  had  an  opportunity  of  choosing  his 
exit  for  him. 

He  had  already  collected  the  remains  of  the  public 
funds  in  the  Treasury,  and  now,  under  the  cover  of 
night,  betook  himself  to  the  British  Representative  who, 
very  unwisely,  consented  to  the  President's  request. 
Balmaceda  saw  that  it  was  hopeless  to  attempt  to 
get  on  board  a  British  ship,  himself,  as  had  been  his 
intention,  but,  assuring  his  English  friend  that  the  gold 
was  his  own  private  property,  he  begged  him  to  have 
it  placed  in  the  keeping  of  a  British  captain  and  carried 
into  safety.  One  cannot  but  think  that  the  gentleman 
must  have  been,  for  a  trained  servant  of  the  Queen's, 
of  a  curiously  confiding  and  trustful  disposition,  for, 
although  he  must  have  known  the  personal  character  of 
the  man  with  whom  he  was  dealing,  he  took  his  simple 
word  for  it,  and  authorised  the  British  officer  to  take 
charge  of  the  bullion  and  steam  away  with  it. 

Assured  of  the  safety  of  his  spoils,  Balmaceda  made 
for  the  Argentine  Legation  and  threw  himself  upon  the 
charity  of  my  old  friend,  Madame  Uriburu,  who  took  him 
in.  Both  she  and  her  husband  knew  that  if  he  were  seen 
in  the  streets  he  would  be  torn  in  pieces,  and  their  charity 
overcame  their  official  scruples. 

379 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

They  hid  him  in  two  little  rooms,  leading  off  a  remote 
staircase,  and,  In  the  night,  brought  up  food  and  drink 
for  him.  This  went  on  for  some  weeks,  while  the  whole 
of  Santiago  was  searching  for  him,  high  and  low. 

The  man  must  have  gone  nearly  mad  with  the  strain. 
His  naturally  nervous  temperament,  working  with  the 
solitude,  the  never  absent  fear  of  capture,  and  the  mem- 
ory of  the  blood  he  had  shed  so  uselessly  and  so  wan- 
tonly, could  not  but  have  come  to  a  tension  where  the 
slightest  shock  would  break  down  his  self-control. 

One  day,  two  of  the  Uriburu  children  were  playing  on 
the  staircase,  bouncing  a  ball  up  and  down  the  steps. 
They  were  close  to  a  landing,  on  the  opposite  side  of 
which  was  a  door.  As  children  will,  they  began  to  throw 
the  ball  at  it,  enjoying  the  scramble.  Gently  they  threw 
it  at  first,  then,  by  degrees,  harder  and  harder,  until, 
suddenly,  from  the  inside,  came  the  report  of  a  pistol, 
followed  by  the  thud  of  a  body  on  the  floor,  and  they, 
terrified,  fled  shrieking  to  their  mother. 

Balmaceda  in  his  half-demented  state,  had  thought 
the  impact  of  the  ball  against  the  door  and  the  voices 
of  the  children  to  be  the  forerunners  of  the  mob,  and  had 
shot  himself  rather  than  face  them. 

With  him,  the  Civil  War  came  to  an  end  and  it  was  not 
long  before  Liberalism  came  to  lose  its  attractions. 


380 


XVII 

A    WATERING    PLACE   IN    THE   ANDES 

A  Trying  Situation  —  Degenerate  Spanish — "No  Doctors  or  Lawyers!" 
The  Mystical  <'  Manto"  —  Pretty  Prayer  Carpets —  A  Startling  Sight  — 
The  Parrot  in  Church  —  The  Ways  of  Good  Women — A  Piously  Con- 
ducted Pilgrimage  —  The  Baths  of  Cauquenes  —  Conservative  Grandees  — 
White  Acacias  —  A  Lonely  Bloom  —  The  Dream-letter  —  Where  Our 
Marching  Orders  Found  Me —  A  Memory  and  a  Farewell. 

SOME  wise  person  once  told  me  that  In  renting  a 
house  the  great  thing  is  to  make  one's  selection  in 
bad  weather.  This  doubtful  advantage  was  certainly 
ours  when  we  chose  our  Santiago  dwelling-place,  chiefly 
attracted,  I  think,  by  the  unusual  feature  of  one  or  two 
chimneys  which  would  allow  of  our  putting  in  some 
heating  stoves.  This  we  at  once  did,  in  spite  of  the  pro- 
tests of  our  friends,  who  solemnly  assured  us  that  warm- 
ing the  house  meant  opening  the  door  to  the  doctor  — 
it  would  be  the  source  of  constant  bad  health  to  us  and 
our  servants ! 

We  had  made  several  friends  already,  although  at 
first  my  difl^culties  with  the  language  left  most  of  the 
conversation  to  them.  One  day,  indeed,  a  week  or  two 
after  our  arrival,  my  sitting-room  at  the  hotel  was  sud- 
denly filled  by  quite  a  crowd  of  ladies,  wives  of  officials, 
not  one  of  whom  could  speak  a  word  of  French.  I  had 
been  warned  not  to  draw  on  my  Italian  for  any  Spanish, 

381 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

because  of  the  similarity  In  sound  and  disastrous  differ- 
ence in  meaning  of  many  words,  so  I  was  prudently 
dumb,  and  they  entertained  one  another  until  help  was 
sent  me  In  the  person  of  an  amiable  woman  whose  hus- 
band was  In  the  Chilean  diplomatic  service.  She  had 
lived  In  Europe,  and  at  once  took  on  the  office  of  Inter- 
preter, to  my  great  gratitude  and  relief.  A  few  weeks 
later  I  needed  no  interpreter,  having  picked  up  enough 
to  get  along  alone.  I  had  no  time  to  take  lessons,  but 
I  read  the  daily  papers,  and  provided  myself  with  Spanish 
novels  —  an  excellent  way  of  learning  a  language  in  a 
hurry,  because  of  the  much  dialogue  and  the  thread  of 
interest  which  makes  one  want  to  see  what  is  in  the  next 
chapter.  My  husband  also  helped  me  a  good  deal  by  re- 
fusing to  remember  or  read  a  word  of  Spanish  as  soon  as 
he  found  out  that  I  could  talk  for  him  and  translate  letters 
and  such  extracts  from  the  papers  as  he  wanted.  Never- 
theless I  always  spoke  it  badly;  the  harsh  gutturals  and 
hissings  offended  my  Italian  ear;  and  whereas  In  Italian 
every  letter  Is  pronounced.  In  American  Spanish  half  of 
them  are  suppressed,  a  caprice  which  throws  many  ob- 
stacles in  the  path  of  a  beginner. 

The  Spaniards  look  upon  Chlleno  Spanish  as  a  degen- 
erate dialect,  and  I  remember  that  Madame  Carcano,  the 
Spanish  wife  of  the  Italian  Minister,  was  never  tired  of 
ridiculing  the  local  Idioms,  particularly  the  "  Como 
no?"  (How  not?)  which  was  as  universal  a  form  of 
assent  as  Is  the  famous  "  You  bet!  "  in  my  present  home 
on  the  Pacific  Slope.  But  they  had  some  pretty  phrases, 
^' Vayase  con  DIos  "    (Go  with  God)    and  "  Hasta  la 

382 


A   WATERING    PLACE    IN   THE    ANDES 

vista  "  (Till  sight)  for  farewell.  How  much  more  there 
generally  is  in  the  farewell  than  in  the  greeting!  My 
dear  brother's  favourite  was  such  a  friendly  one,  "  Be 
good  to  yourself!  " 

Madame  Carcano  was  really  my  chief  standby  in  the 
first  weeks  of  my  residence  in  Santiago,  for  she  was  able 
to  warn  me  against  the  many  mistakes  that  Europeans 
are  apt  to  make  on  plunging  into  a  Transatlantic  society 
with  a  modern  face  —  and  customs  and  ways  of  thought 
that  have  changed  but  little  since  the  colonisers  were 
sent  out  from  Spain  hundreds  of  years  ago.  It  seems 
that  they  were  not  very  easy  to  get.  Cortez,  writing 
home  on  the  subject,  said,  "  Send  me  anything  you  like, 
only  I  will  have  no  doctors  and  no  lawyers!  "  It  was, 
as  the  times  went,  a  wise  discrimination,  for  the  doctors 
of  the  1 6th  century  must  have  killed  many  more  than 
they  cured,  and  where  there  are  no  lawyers  quarrels 
are  usually  short  lived.  But  the  two  enlightened  pro- 
fessions have  had  their  revenge  on  Cortez,  —  every  other 
door  in  Santiago  hears  on  its  brass  plate  the  title  of 
"  Medico  "  or  "  Abogado." 

The  first  "  bevue "  from  which  Madame  Carcano 
saved  me  was  that  of  attempting  to  go  to  church  in  a 
tonnet.  "  You  would  be  mobbed,"  she  told  me.  "  You 
must  buy  a  nianto  at  once,  and  I  will  show  you  how  to 
put  it  on." 

I  had  imagined  the  manto  to  be  something  like  the  man- 
tilla of  Spain,  so  becoming  In  its  lacy  softness,  but  no, 
it  was  a  very  large  square  of  opaque  black,  heavy  crepe 
de  Chine  for  choice,  of  which  one  corner  was  wrapped 

383 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

over  the  head  and  the  point  drawn  as  tightly  as  possible 
round  the  throat;  then  the  thing  was  deftly  thrown  over 
the  shoulder  so  that  the  opposite  corner  very  nearly 
touched  the  ground  behind,  exactly  in  the  middle  of  the 
skirt;  the  folds  were  drawn  close  to  the  figure  and  finally 
fastened  somewhere  on  the  left  shoulder  with  a  brooch. 
It  sounds  like  nothing  earthly,  but  on  a  slight,  graceful 
woman  it  was  one  of  the  prettiest  coverings  possible, 
besides  being  the  most  comfortable.  Young  faces  looked 
very  sweet  with  the  black  frame  round  rosy  cheek  and 
chin,  and  the  little  curls  of  fair  or  dark  hair  escaping 
over  forehead  and  temples.  The  hands  were  quite  free, 
when  the  manto  was  properly  put  on,  and  they  usually 
carried  a  prayerbook  and  a  mother-of-pearl  rosary,  while 
a  gaily  embroidered  "  alfombrita  "  (or  prayer  carpet) 
hung  neatly  folded  over  the  left  arm. 

The  prayer  carpet  is  as  necessary  a  part  of  the  outfit 
of  a  Chilean  woman  as  of  a  good  Mussulman,  for  there 
are  only  a  few  seats  in  even  the  most  modern  churches, 
and  the  congregation  generally  has  to  sit  or  kneel  on  the 
stone  floor.  Hence  the  use  of  the  *'  alfombrita,"  a 
square  of  cloth,  usually  black,  with  quilted  lining  and 
border.  The  richness  of  the  embroidery  and  the  quality 
of  the  lining  proclaim  the  status  of  the  owner,  and  there 
is  no  article  about  which  a  Chilean  woman  is  more  par- 
ticular. Embroidery  being  one  of  her  most  admired 
accomplishments,  it  is  lavished  on  the  prayer  carpet,  the 
sombre  background  of  which  usually  displays  all  the 
colours  of  the  rainbow  in  its  silken  net  of  roses  and 
forget-me-nots    and   jessamines,    often   picked    out   with 

384 


A   WATERING    PLACE    IN    THE    ANDES 

gold  and  crystal  beads  which  must  make  anything  but 
a  comfortable  material  to  kneel  upon. 

On  entering  the  church  the  Senorlta  goes  at  once  to 
her  accustomed  place  which  only  an  utter  stranger  would 
venture  to  usurp;  the  carpet  Is  spread  on  the  pavement 
at  exactly  the  right  angle;  and  then  all  colouring  disap- 
pears as  the  black  figure  sinks  down  and  hides  It.  The 
first  time  I  went  to  Mass  In  Santiago,  I  gasped  as  I  en- 
tered the  Church,  for  a  stranger  or  more  mournful  sight 
had  never  met  my  eyes.  I  was  a  little  late,  for  Mass  had 
begun,  and  the  building,  from  one  end  to  the  other,  was 
an  unbroken  sea  of  black  —  hundreds  of  women,  all,  of 
course,  with  their  backs  to  me,  kneeling  shoulder  to  shoul- 
der, with  deeply  bowed  heads,  and  not  a  single  coun- 
tenance or  a  touch  of  colour  visible  anywhere.  It  was 
startling ! 

The  very  pious  ones,  and  older  women  generally,  draw 
the  manto  far  over  the  forehead  and  cheeks  so  that  noth- 
ing is  seen  of  the  face  in  profile  and  very  little  In  the  front 
view.  The  first  missionaries  taught  that  a  woman's  head 
should  be  entirely  covered  In  church  and  that  Our  Lady 
set  the  example,  as  shown  in  her  pictures,  by  wearing  a 
voluminous  head-veil.  Madame  Carcano  told  me  that 
on  her  arrival  she  had  trotted  gaily  Into  Church  in  her 
lace  mantilla  as  she  was  accustomed  to  do  at  home,  but 
she  never  did  It  again.  The  woman  beside  whom  she 
found  herself  kneeling  turned  a  shocked  countenance 
towards  her  and  said,  "  You  might  at  least  try  to  be 
decent  when  you  come  to  church!  " 

One  saw  queer  sights  in  church  occasionally.     I  re- 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

member  one  morning,  on  entering  San  Borja,  seeing  an 
old  Indian  woman  who  had  just  settled  herself  on  the 
pavement  with  her  most  precious  belongings  laid  out  all 
around  her.  There  were  market  baskets,  bundles  of 
clothing,  bunches  of  herbs  —  it  was  a  wonder  that  she 
could  carry  so  much  about  her,  but  to  all  this  was  added  a 
large  cage  containing  a  parrot  which  she  had  apparently 
feared  to  leave  at  home.  In  a  few  minutes  she  opened 
the  door  of  the  cage,  and  the  creature,  a  splendid  fellow 
all  in  green  and  blue,  walked  out,  climbed  on  her  shoulder 
and  settled  down  there  to  wait  till  she  had  finished  her 
prayers.  The  two  were  evidently  old  friends  and  quite 
understood  each  other's  ways. 

The  lower  classes  in  Chile  are  closely  allied  to  the 
Indians  and  have  very  few  of  the  foreign  characteris- 
tics noticeable  in  their  social  superiors.  These  latter 
can  scarcely  be  called  Spanish;  even  their  names  —  and 
those  the  best  ones  —  are  often  Irish  or  German,  and 
they  are  more  proud  of  their  Hibernian  or  Teuton  an- 
cestors than  of  their  Iberian  ones.  Indeed,  there  is  still 
much  hatred  of  Spain,  and  the  resentment  kindled  by 
the  bombardment  of  Valparaiso  has  not  yet  died  down. 
One  of  my  friends,  a  most  gentle  and  pious  woman,  some- 
times spoke  of  the  "  tyrants  "  from  whom  Chile  had  been 
freed,  and  her  eyes  flashed  very  angrily  when  she  did  so. 
Like  most  of  the  other  women,  she  was  well  posted  on 
the  past  history  and  actual  politics  of  her  country,  but 
everything  outside  of  that  was  a  closed  book  to  her  as 
to  them.  She  could  not  understand  my  rather  omnivorous 
taste  in  reading  or  my  eagerness  to  hear  what  was  going 

386 


A   WATERING    PLACE    IN   THE   ANDES 

on  in  Europe.  Her  range  of  subjects  was  limited,  being 
confined  to  local  and  religious  ones,  but  she  talked 
well,  and  so  untiringly  that  it  was  she  who  really  taught 
me  Spanish,  though  to  the  end  she  used  to  go  into  fits 
of  laughter  at  my  Italian  pronunciation,  particularly  of 
the  ''  r;  "  clear  and  pure  enough,  in  all  conscience,  in  our 
Roman  tongue,  it  could  never  approach  the  Spanish 
sound,  which  is  like  the  screech  of  an  alarm  clock. 

Pastora was  an  old  maid  who,  with  her  still  older 

spinster  sister,  Paola,  lived  with  a  married  brother  and 
helped  to  bring  up  his  many  daughters.  "  Las  chiquillas  " 
(the  small  ones)  ranged  in  age  from  nine  to  nineteen, 
but  they  were  never  all  at  home  together,  two  being 
always  "  con  las  monjas  "  in  the  Convent  School.  As 
the  younger  ones  began  to  grow  up  the  bigger  ones  had 
to  come  back,  the  family's  means  being  somewhat  re- 
stricted; and  coming  back  meant  the  cessation  of  all 
study  except  that  of  music,  and  the  devotion  of  most  of 
the  day  to  embroidery,  which  the  mothers  insisted  on  as 
a  serious  occupation.  A  book  even  of  travel  or  biography 
was  considered  "  mundano "  in  the  morning  —  the 
"  Nifias  "  must  employ  that  usefully!  At  the  Convent, 
at  the  distribution  of  prizes,  there  was  always  a  grand 
exhibition  of  embroidered  cushions,  divans,  and  chairs, 
the  parents  paying  generously  for  mounting  and  uphol- 
stering if  their  daughter's  work  was  considered  worthy 
of  it.  The  ambition  of  each  girl  is  to  have  all  her  draw- 
ing-room furniture  embroidered  by  her  own  hand,  and 
the  result  is  often  quite  sumptuous  and  beautiful.  With 
marriage  all  this  comes  to  an  end,  as  the  Chilean  lady 

387 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

is  expected  not  only  to  superintend,  but  to  assist  her 
servants,  and  to  take  the  chief  care  of  her  children  upon 
herself,  tasks  sufficient  to  give  her  plenty  of  occupation, 
but  so  eagerly  shared,  as  a  rule,  by  sisters,  cousins,  or 
some  confidential  companion  that  they  never  become  very 
burdensome. 

The  status  of  domestic  servants  is  not  nearly  so  good 
as  it  is  in  Italy.  The  maids,  in  a  well-regulated  house- 
hold, never  go  out  except  to  execute  some  small  commis- 
sion —  there  must  be  no  dawdling  on  the  way,  and  only 
the  elderly  ones  are  trusted  so  far  as  this.  In  the  house, 
with  its  two  or  three  patios,  they  have  great  liberty,  and 
seem  to  interchange  jobs  at  will,  much  as  our  Japanese 
maids  used  to  do.  They  are  not  well-trained,  in  our 
sense  of  the  word,  but  very  amiable  and  devoted,  and  I 
regretted  having  brought  our  expensive  trio  of  English 
servants  when  I  saw  how  well  our  colleagues  got  on  with 
those  they  could  find  in  the  country. 

The  English  servants  complained  bitterly  of  the  dull- 
ness of  life  in  Santiago.  They  could  not  understand 
that  we  should  be  satisfied  with  it.  There  was  a  little 
place  in  the  mountains  near  by  where  I  sometimes  went 
with  my  friend  Pastora  for  the  baths.  The  first  time 
my  maid  Clara  accompanied  me;  when  next  I  was  pre- 
paring for  a  fortnight  at  Cauquenes  she  entreated,  with 
tears,  to  be  left  behind  —  another  experience  of  such 
monotony  would  send  her  mad,  she  declared! 

I  was  fond  of  the  strange  spot,  which  had  a  certain 
beauty  of  its  own.  Pastora  and  I,  and  as  many  of  the 
"  Nifias  "  as  could  be  packed  into  the  flat-roofed  Mex- 

388 


A   WATERING    PLACE    IN   THE    ANDES 

ican  "  carruaje  "  would  leave  Santiago  early  in  the  morn- 
ing to  drive  for  three  or  four  hours,  over  roads  knee- 
deep  in  dust,  across  the  plain.  Here  and  there  the 
straggling  walls  of  some  big  "  Hacienda  "  enclosed  an 
oasis  of  greenness,  but  for  the  most  part  the  landscape 
was  that  of  the  desert,  with  some  of  the  desert's  beau- 
tiful brown  and  gold  and  amethyst  tints  veiling  its  heat- 
smitten  distances  as  the  day  went  on.  Pastora  and 
the  girls  talked  incessantly  till  a  halt  was  called  for  lunch; 
when  we  started  again  I  was  feeling  rather  sleepy  and 
was  about  to  settle  back  into  my  corner  when  Pastora 
pulled  out  her  rosary,  and,  looking  round  with  a  bright 
smile,  said,  "  Now  we  are  going  to  pray  thick!  "  ( Ahora 
vamos  a  rezar  tupido.)  Of  course  we  all  responded  at 
once,  and  there  was  not  another  pause  till  my  dear  little 
friend  had  led  us  through  the  whole  fifteen  decades  of 
the  Rosary,  the  prayers  punctuated  every  minute  or  two 
by  some  monstrous  lurch  of  the  carriage  into  holes  or 
over  boulders  on  the  road. 

That  ascended  steadily  for  a  long  time  and  the  sun  was 
nearly  setting  when  the  driver  suddenly  turned  into  a 
ravine  of  the  hills,  full  of  trees  and  the  sound  of  running 
water.  It  was  heavenly,  after  the  many  hours  of  dusty 
travelling  across  the  plain!  We  alighted  at  the  foot  of 
some  steps  and  mounting  them  entered  a  wide  space,  sur- 
rounded by  buildings  on  three  sides  and  planted  with 
acacia  trees,  just  then  in  full  bloom.  The  court  was 
quite  a  garden,  gay  with  the  scarlet  geraniums  which  grow 
to  gigantic  size  in  Chile,  creeping  up  to  the  roofs  of  the 
mud  cottages  and  often  supplying  the  only  note  of  fresh- 

389 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

ness  and  colour  in  the  desolate  landscape.  Very  soon  wc 
were  Installed  in  some  bright,  pretty  rooms  on  an  upper 
floor,  opening  on  a  balcony  which  ran  the  whole  length 
of  the  building  and  where  one  could  sit,  looking  down  into 
the  garden  and  listening  to  the  lively  hum  of  chatter  from 
other  apartments,  mostly  full  at  that  time,  as  it  was  the 
approved  season  for  the  mineral  baths.  On  descending 
to  the  table  d'hote,  Pastora  and  the  girls  found  various 
relations  and  acquaintances,  and  I  had  the  amusement 
of  watching  the  arrival  of  a  family  from  Santiago,  who, 
according  to  old  Chilean  custom,  brought  all  their  own 
furniture,  including  cooking  utensils  and  provisions;  a 
tribe  of  servants  accompanied  them,  and  they  took  up 
their  quarters  in  the  chief  wing  of  the  hotel,  where  suites 
of  rooms  were  left  unfurnished  to  accommodate  the  con- 
servative grandees  who  maintained  the  respectable  old 
traditions.  It  reminded  me  of  our  journeys  in  the  north 
of  China,  when  the  servants  moved  all  our  paraphernalia 
every  day,  and,  when  they  judged  it  necessary,  re-papered 
the  rooms  of  the  inn  or  temple  where  we  were  to  pass 
the  night,  so  that  all  might  be  clean  and  inviting  when 
we  entered. 

My  first  visitor  the  next  morning  was  an  enterprising 
and  highly  picturesque  Indian  woman,  who,  I  found, 
came  every  day  to  sell  small  hot  rolls  to  the  guests.  They 
were  most  palatable  when  fresh,  but,  if  kept,  attained  the 
consistency  of  marble  In  the  course  of  twenty-four  hours. 
I  had,  at  Cauquenes,  to  fall  In  with  Chilean  hours  for 
meals,  and  rather  trying  they  were,  especially  the  ten 
o'clock  "  almuerzo  "  with  Its  huge  plates  of  "  casuela  " 

390 


A   WATERING    PLACE    IN   THE   ANDES 

patterned  with  saffron,  and  the  inevitable  "  Bisteca  "  all 
but  raw  after  its  slight  bow  to  the  fire.  No  wonder 
Cauquenes  was  a  favourite  resort!  Its  waters  had  a  fine 
power  of  subduing  rheumatism  I 

One  of  my  great  pleasures  up  there  was  in  the  grove 
of  acacia  trees;  their  ivory  white  clusters  hung  close 
within  reach  and  my  room  was  always  full  of  them.  In 
the  afternoons  we  walked  a  good  deal,  exploring  the  hill- 
paths,  which,  my  companions  told  me,  led  to  many  a 
gold  mine  sealed  up  by  the  Indians  when  Cortez  was 
roaming  the  country  for  the  precious  stuff  —  of  which  he 
died,  for  the  outraged  natives  having  got  him  into  their 
power  poured  molten  gold  down  his  throat,  with  the 
taunt,  "  Gold  thou  didst  desire  —  now  of  gold  have  thy 
fill!  "  The  knowledge  of  the  localities  of  these  hidden 
mines  are  supposed  by  many  to  be  still  preserved  among 
the  Indians,  and  I  remember  embodying  the  idea  in  a 
novel  I  wrote  many  years  ago,  "  The  Looms  of  Time." 

If  the  hills  held  gold,  they  held  very  little  else.  The 
scant,  burnt  herbage  could  not  soften  the  crumbling  scoria 
underfoot,  and  except  for  a  certain  poetic  vastness,  there 
was  not  a  single  attractive  feature  in  the  view  of  the  far- 
stretching  plain.  Other  plains  that  I  remembered  — 
the  Campagna  and  the  great  plain  of  northern  China 
—  set  the  Imagination  tingling  with  storied  possibilities; 
but  here  nothing  had  happened  and  nothing  worth  re- 
membering would  ever  happen;  the  few  Indians  one 
met  were  stupid  and  smilingly  happy,  all  devoutly  wear- 
ing their  rosaries  round  their  necks,  quite  contented  with 
this  world  as  they  found  it,  and  sure,  if  they  said  their 

391 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

prayers  and  neither  robbed  nor  murdered,  of  being  per- 
fectly satisfied  with  the  next.  That  they  were  Christians 
was  rather  surprising,  for  the  country  away  from  the 
towns  is  terribly  undermanned  with  priests;  to  meet  the 
most  crying  needs,  the  chief  landowners  and  employers 
of  labour  arrange  for  periodical  missions  on  their 
haciendas  once  in  two  or  three  years.  Then  two  or  more 
Padres  stay  for  a  fortnight,  preach  twice  a  day,  instruct 
the  young  ones,  marry  dozens  of  couples,  and  baptise  all 
the  children  born  since  their  last  visit.  When  they  leave, 
everything  has  been  straightened  up,  spiritually,  and  every- 
body goes  ahead  in  faith  and  patience  till  they  can 
return. 

I  spoke  just  now  of  the  desolation  of  those  barren 
hills,  but  in  justice  I  must  describe  one  flower  that  I 
found  there  which  I  have  never  seen  anywhere  else.  It 
is  called  the  "  chagual  "  (pronounce  "chawal"),  grows 
on  the  hottest,  stoniest  spots  of  the  soil,  and  shoots  up 
a  single  stalk,  six  feet  in  height,  and  for  three  or  four 
feet  of  its  length  is  covered  with  pale  greenish-blue 
flowers,  lily  shaped  and  of  the  most  waxen  texture.  The 
blossoms,  of  course,  open  first  nearest  the  ground,  while 
the  last  are  still  barely  visible  on  the  last  point  of  the 
tapering  spire  high  in  air.  The  lower  ones  are  quite 
large  and  at  that  stage  the  whole  looks  like  a  giant 
parasol,  closed  and  fringed  with  turquoise-coloured 
lilies.  The  stalk  is  like  that  of  a  young  sapling,  and  the 
chagual  is  a  solitary,  each  bloom  far  away  from  any  of 
its  kind,  so  that  one  wonders  how  the  seeds  are  conveyed 
to  its  chosen  growing  place. 

392 


A   WATERING    PLACE    IN   THE   ANDES 

On  our  return  journey  from  Cauquenes  I  persuaded  the 
driver  to  cut  one  down  for  me  to  take  home.  The  only 
way  to  transport  the  huge  thing  was  to  bind  it  on  the 
roof  of  the  carriage,  a  device  which  caused  much  amuse- 
ment in  the  street  when  I  drove  up  to  my  own  door  in 
Santiago.  We  got  it  safely  upstairs,  and  for  the  next 
few  days  all  my  time  went  in  painting  its  portrait,  both 
in  the  whole  and  in  detail.  As  the  intelligent  reader  has 
doubtless  discovered,  I  scarcely  know  a  botanical  term, 
but  one  of  the  great  delights  of  my  leisure  hours  has  been 
to  paint  flowers,  not  for  decorative  purposes,  but  to  know 
them  —  every  twist  of  stem  and  wilful  curl  of  leaf  —  the 
flush  and  wane  of  colour,  the  treasure  of  the  black  or 
golden  heart  which  to  me  was  like  an  eye,  telling  many 
things  that  the  ear  could  never  receive. 

My  second  visit  to  Cauquenes  was  paid  under  rather 
melancholy  circumstances.  I  had  a  dream  —  one  of 
those  which  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  ordinary  wild 
gyrations  of  the  brain,  dreams  which  we  know  to  be  non- 
sense almost  before  we  have  waked  from  them.  This 
was  In  the  nature  of  clairvoyance,  and  carried  absolute 
conviction  with  it.  I  dreamt  that  I  was  holding  in  my 
hand  a  letter  from  my  sister-in-law,  Miss  Eraser,  In  which 
she  said  that  our  eldest  boy  was  very  ill  with  bronchitis. 
She  described  how  he  had  caught  cold  through  putting  on 
his  jacket,  which  he  had  thrown  down  on  the  wet  grass 
while  he  played  cricket.  She  went  on  to  say  that  of 
course  he  was  having  the  best  of  care,  but  that  she  did 
not  believe  he  would  recover,  and,  in  any  case,  felt  that 
she  had  no  responsibility  In  the  matter. 

393 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  DIPLOMATIST'S  WIFE 

I  woke  up,  knowing  that  I  had  read  a  real  letter  and 
my  state  of  mind  may  be  imagined.  I  told  my  husband 
about  it  and  entreated  him  to  cable  for  news,  but  of 
course  he  pooh-poohed  the  whole  thing.  Spend  pounds 
and  pounds  on  a  cable  because  I,  who  was  always  worry- 
ing about  the  children,  had  had  a  bad  dream!  Who 
ever  heard  of  such  nonsense? 

Six  weeks  must  go  by  before  the  letter  itself  could 
arrive.  I  had  read  it,  as  I  well  knew,  as  Fanny,  over 
there  in  Bath,  was  writing  it.  I  stood  the  suspense  for 
a  time,  but  at  last  I  told  my  husband  that  it  would  be 
better  for  me  to  go  away  and  see  out  the  last  fortnight 
by  myself.  His  incredulity,  and  the  little  social  round 
in  Santiago,  were  more  than  I  could  bear.  Hugh  was 
very  kind  and  let  me  go  to  Cauquenes,  where,  two  weeks 
later,  the  letter  reached  me,  almost  word  for  word  as 
I  had  already  read  it,  including  the  final  repudiation  of 
responsibility.  The  only  omission  was  that  of  my  sister- 
in-law's  disbelief  in  the  boy's  recovery.  That  fear  was 
in  her  mind  as  she  wrote,  on  the  date  of  my  dream,  but 
consideration  for  us  had  led  her  to  suppress  the  expression 
of  it. 

I  was  standing  in  the  same  court-yard  at  Cauquenes, 
under  the  acacia  blossoms,  in  the  spring  of  1888,  when 
another  letter  came  to  me,  from  my  husband  in  San- 
tiago, telling  me  that  our  marching  orders  had  come 
—  for  Japan.  It  was  a  very  welcome  promotion  for  him, 
for  he  had  looked  forward  with  apprehension  to  a  long 
course  of  South  American  Republics.  It  usually  takes  a 
diplomatist  at  that  stage  seven  years  to  be  recalled  north 

394 


A   WATERING    PLACE    IN   THE   ANDES 

of  the  line  If  he  has  held  a  Mission  below  It.  As  I  read  his 
joyful  letter  my  thoughts  travelled  back  to  a  spring  morn- 
ing in  Vienna,  when,  leaning  out  of  a  window  in  the 
Hofburg,  waiting  for  the  appearance  of  the  splendid 
Holy  Thursday  procession  of  the  royalties  accompany- 
ing the  Blessed  Sacrament,  I  had  turned  to  my  com- 
panion. Lord  Tenterden,  and  asked  him  to  send  Hugh 
as  Minister  to  Pekin,  a  post  which  my  husband  knew  so 
well  and  desired  for  many  good  reasons.  Lord  Tenter- 
den had  been  one  of  Hugh's  fags  at  Eton  and  had  always 
been  a  good  friend  of  ours,  also  a  powerful  one,  as  he 
filled  for  several  years  the  post  of  Permanent  Under 
Secretary  at  the  F.  O. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  I  shall  not  send  Hugh  to  Pekin. 
I  think  you  would  like  Japan  better.  That  is  where  I 
mean  you  to  go."  And  he  smiled  down  at  me,  his  kind, 
ugly  face  beaming  with  friendliness  and  the  pleasant 
sense  of  being  able  to  make  other  people  happy.  Now 
he  had  kept  his  word.  From  the  little  city  on  the  arid 
plain  at  the  foot  of  the  Andes  we  were  to  go  to  the 
greenest,  sweetest  land  on  earth,  the  place  which  in  after 
years  became  truly  home  to  me,  a  home  gladdened  by 
much  sunshine  and  destined,  as  all  true  homes  are,  I 
think,  to  be  hallowed  with  tears. 

Mary  Crawford  Fraser. 


395 


DATE  DUE 

1 

j 

HIGHSMITH    45-  102 


PRINTED   IN    U.S.A. 


D  400  .F8  A4 

Fraser,  Hugh,  Mrs.  d .  1922. 
Reminiscences  of  a 
diplomatist's  wife 

UC  SOUTHERM  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    001310  935 


